How to Love
by InMyJazzShoes
Summary: A tragic-looking new girl, Hermione Granger, shows up at the Leaky Cauldron just before Harry's third year and refuses to answer any questions he asks, but he's not willing to back down just yet.
1. The New Girl

**Author's Note:** Hello :) I've been working on this story ever since August. It's been my secret little project that I've hinted at uploading. But I was serious, this wasn't just an idea in my head. I have an idea of where this is going, which is like a first. Please keep in mind this is AU (my very first AU story, actually) and more will be explained later. This will all make sense, I have a background to this and everything, don't worry. Oh, and the title is not onehundredpercent definite, but it was the only thing I could think of that related to the theme I'm going for in the story. I hope it doesn't suck. Enjoy :)

**Info:** This is taking place the summer before Harry's third year. Rated T just as a precaution. I lost my copy of PoA a long time ago, so until I buy a new copy, I apalogize for missing certain details that might've been in the book that are vital to the overall storyline.

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How to Love

_Chapter One: The New Girl_

The first thing Harry had noticed about the new girl was that she was dangerously thin. Her face was pale and her cheekbones were rather sharp. There were dark circles under her eyes, and Harry didn't remember seeing her even smile.

Already, he was drawing assumptions. Did she live the same life style that he did whenever he was home for the summer, living with relatives who detested her company? Was she even a witch?

Of course she was a bloody witch. Harry shook his head. This was the Leaky Cauldron, for Merlin's sake.

Was the girl a Hogwarts student? Harry hadn't remembered seeing her before. He couldn't really estimate how old she was, due to her unnatural thinness and mysterious height.

Then again, Harry was remembering now, a man by the name of Remus Lupin, apparently the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, had talked to the girl after introducing himself to Harry.

"Harry Potter!" he had said cheerfully the moment he saw him. His overall appearance was a bit shaggy. His hair was rather long, and it looked like he hadn't shaved in over a week. "What a pleasure to meet you." His small eyes scanned Harry intensely, making him feel a little uncomfortable.

Harry awkwardly shook hands with the man. He had gone through such a routine before plenty of times. Apparently almost everyone had the pleasure of meeting him. "Hello."

"I am Remus Lupin, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. I've heard you have a knack for fighting the Dark Arts, eh?"

Harry wondered if Remus Lupin would stay as a teacher for longer than a school year.

"Not really, professor."

Lupin had winked at him. "You know, I was friends with -- " There was a cough from behind them and he turned to the girl, sitting across from them.

She spoke at such a low volume that Harry couldn't hear, but he lip-read, "Sorry."

"Oh, are you -- "

The girl had nodded solemnly, then coughed again. Her wide brown eyes fell upon Harry, and he was ready for the usual constant staring, but she looked more like she was challenging him to hold the eye contact rather than preparing to stare at him in star-struck creepiness.

"I would like to tell you more about myself, Harry, and vice versa, but I'm afraid I have to talk to, er..." he began awkwardly. The girl sounded like she was choking now, but Lupin didn't rush to her side. Harry couldn't help but look at her every few seconds, wondering if someone was going to come to her aid. He was about to stand up himself to help her.

"Of course."

"Talk soon, then?"

Harry nodded.

Now, he sat there in the small corner of the Leaky Cauldron, trying to not look at the new girl, whom Lupin had left for a few minutes. At least she stopped choking by now. There was such a mysterious aura around her that it was rather difficult to not cast a few covert glances at her.

Harry almost felt like walking up to her and striking up a conversation, but something told him not to. Perhaps it was her apparent fragileness. Or maybe it was because the daring way she looked at him before was a little intimidating.

She didn't seem interested in having any type of communication with him whatsoever.

That might've been it. The whole reason Harry was wondering so much about her. She didn't stare at him. She didn't scream "Oh my goodness, it's Harry Potter!" the moment she recognized his presence. She didn't do anything to purposely get his attention. And Harry admired that.

Now, Lupin was returning to the corner than Harry and the girl were sitting in, facing each other, separated by walking space and a coffee table.

"Well, Albus, I naturally assumed that she wasn't so capable," Remus Lupin said as he approached the corner where Harry and the girl were sat.

Within moments, Dumbledore was right behind Lupin. "Of course she's capable. If she wasn't, she wouldn't be here." He was in less formal robes than usual, but there was still the twinkle in his eye as he looked over at Harry. "Hello, Harry." He didn't forget to bring his joyous aura with him, Harry noticed, because they were both smiling back at each other.

"Hello, professor," he said with a smile, straightening his back so that he appeared to be more focused and respectful. Harry's mood lightened up at the sight of seeing the headmaster again.

"I see you've met Professor Lupin?"

"Yes, sir."

"How're you holding up?" Lupin asked genuinely.

"Great, thanks."

Harry looked at the girl across from him quickly. She was looking at Dumbledore with some odd expression: fear? confusion? absolute bewilderment?

"Ahh, hello there," Dumbledore said to the girl. "I'm Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Remus, can you fetch her some tea? I think she's a bit cold."

Cold? She was covered in blankets. How could she be _cold_? Harry wondered. However, the girl nodded.

"I see your neck is still red?" he continued. "Well, then, we'll just have to get you Callie Corbin's Cough Drops. They work like a charm." The headmaster chuckled to himself.

With what seemed like only a few seconds, Lupin had already returned with a cup of tea and a bag that sported a moving picture of a woman sticking her tongue out and dancing. Needless to say, Harry had seen stranger things.

"Thank you," the girl said, her voice louder than before, as she accepted the cup and bag. Her voice was rough for a girl's.

"Now, I understand that you've received some knowledge about the wizarding world already?"

The girl was instantly intrigued. The dark circles under her eyes almost seemed to disappear. "Yes, sir. I've learned quite a few things about this world. A muggleborn -- is that what we're called?" Her voice didn't even seem that rough now.

Dumbledore nodded, smiling, willing her to continue.

"A muggleborn must have left his or her bag behind. I found tons of books with moving pictures and _everything_...I read through all of them," she said proudly.

"Brilliant, dear," Dumbledore said. "How did you read all of them so quickly?"

The girl shrugged. "I'm just used to reading so much. That's how I know almost everything I know. Reading. People sometimes give me books..."

"Do they now?"

She shrugged again. "Yes, sir, muggles give me books."

"I see..." he said, seeming deep in thought. "For free?"

"Oh, yes, they're absolutely brilliant. If they have a book that they don't need any more, they give it to me and I read them all. However, those wizarding books...those are amazing! Moving pictures and everything. Better than any muggle book I've ever had."

People just gave her books? Did she volunteer at a library? Harry automatically raised his eyebrows in pure curiosity, and he was more grateful for the fact that she wasn't looking at his reaction to what she was saying.

Dumbledore smiled again, his eyes still twinkling. "Did you attempt any of the spells you read about?"

"Of course not, sir," she replied immediately. Then she touched her neck. "Well, apart from...I mean, I don't even have a wand. And wandless magic is normally beyond my ability."

"Aha, miss, I assure you it is not. What you did just a few days ago was wonderful. Although we don't recommend you use wandless magic during every adrenaline rush."

"Albus," Lupin began, "forgive me, but I don't think that you should encourage her about her potential. She's only thirteen --"

So she was thirteen. Harry's age.

"Remus, I think you know what I mean when I say potential. She's just brilliant. Simply brilliant."

"But given what she's been through – you wouldn't want her to have to defend herself like that again," Lupin replied softly.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" Dumbledore continued. "This is Harry Potter," he said, gesturing over to him. "He's thirteen as well. A third year. He might be in a few of your classes, especially if you get sorted into Gryffindor."

The girl looked at him and nodded. Her entire expression changed from when she had been talking about books and magic and muggles. Now she gave him the same challenging look, and the way her eyes were on him it looked like she was judging him in a contest. Within a few seconds, though, she looked away from him and claimed her plain expression once again as her eyes met Dumbledore.

"I remember reading about the Houses. Gryffindor's the brave one, right?" she said.

Dumbledore chuckled and the girl's pale cheeks turned a light shade of pink. "I suppose you could call it the brave house, since many brave students have gotten sorted into that one." He winked. "Harry, in fact, is a perfect example. Have the books you read mentioned him?"

"Harry Potter...yes, actually. And a man named Voldemort." She was unphased.

Lupin flinched.

"Then you know quite a bit about Harry?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He hadn't guessed that their conversation would turn to _this_. And Dumbledore was acting as though Harry wasn't even there, sitting behind him, listening intently and being extremely confused as to what this girl did that Dumbledore was so amazed by, and what Lupin didn't want to encourage.

"Not really. Just that Voldemort tried to kill him as a baby, and he survived," the girl said plainly. Although she began looking a bit uncomfortable as well. "And that bit about his parents." She looked over at him, her mouth open and ready to speak, but she closed it shut and returned her gaze to Dumbledore.

Dumbledore adjusted his glasses before speaking. "I see...Well, ma'am, I have a feeling that you're going to be a talented witch. Never stop learning." He looked down at his watch. "My, my, time passes by when you're having fun! I have a meeting with the Minister of Magic in thirty minutes. About you, actually. Nothing to worry about. We've just got to get you're record, seeing as you don't have any previous records of yourself. Then later, my dear friend Rubeus Hagrid will show you around Diagon Alley."

Harry smiled and propped himself up higher on his seat. "Hagrid's coming here?"

The headmaster turned to face Harry. "Yes, he will be visiting to help this young lady."

"He's great, you'll love him --" Harry began to say to the girl. Then he remembered how uninterested she was in him, and stopped.

The girl nodded as she took in all the information. "Thank you, sir."

"My pleasure." Dumbledore turned to wink at Harry before walking out of the Leaky Cauldron. "I'll see you soon, Harry. You too, Miss Granger."

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**Author's Note:** More will be explained in future chapters, I pinky promise. Thank you for reading, my loves. Feedback is appreciated :)


	2. Diagon Alley

**Author's Note:** Hello :) Here I am again, with a second chapter of this story. Not sure if that many questions will be answered, but it's going to be a gradual process. Hermione is out of character because this is very AU, although she still loves books (I couldn't possibly write about Hermione _not_ liking books). You'll find out why she's so drawn to books eventually, I pinky promise. I wrote pieces of this chapter when I had the time to and finally put them together after figuring out where certain questions should be asked and where. I really didn't wanna disappoint yous, and hopefully I succeeded. Enjoy :)

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How to Love

_Chapter Two: Diagon Alley_

There was awkwardness radiating within the atmosphere after Dumbledore and Lupin had left. So this girl, apparently with the last name Granger, knew that Harry was famous, and she was still nonchalant. Her brown eyes hadn't searched him ever since the two men left the Leaky Cauldron.

Harry, now more than ever, wanted to talk to her. Was he supposed to tell her about himself now that Dumbledore began that topic? What was even going to say to her? Talking to girls was never something that Harry was normally bothered with. He had talked to Ginny loads of times, but Ginny was like his sister. There was no awkwardness in their conversations. He didn't have any intention to ask out this girl, but it was still important to begin a decent conversation...

"So, what's your first name?" Harry asked, swallowing roughly afterwards. _Ask her what her name is_, he had thought to himself. It was the best starter question he could come up with.

The girl looked at him, with her right eyebrow raised. The same challenging look claimed her facial expression. "Hermione," she said it as though it were a question.

"That's a pretty name," he complimented. _Always say "pretty" when complimenting a girl, even if you're not talking about her directly_, Fred had told Harry last year, _You wouldn't believe how easy it is to make a girl's day_.

"Pretty," Hermione repeated in disbelief. "It's a stupid name. I almost asked Professor Dumbledore to request to change my name."

"It's not stupid," he said honestly. But why would Dumbledore change her name? Was that even legally possible? Harry was already forming a mental list of questions about the wizarding world and its laws to ask Ron.

"Do you even know me?" she asked, obviously rhetorically. Harry was taken aback by this. Then again, what did knowing her have anything to do with her name being stupid or not? Hermione tilted her head to her right side and sighed. "The name Hermione is just a reminder." She settled her head onto her pillow more comfortably and closed her eyes.

"To take food out of the oven?" Harry joked, trying to make her smile. He failed.

"No."

That must've ruined it, he thought, because for the next twenty minutes, they were both silent. Harry was wondering why she was so still, and then he realized that she had fallen asleep. He liked the sleeping Hermione better. She wasn't giving him intimidating looks. Even though Hermione was acting challenging towards him, Harry was still so intrigued by her mysteriousness. Why was she here? While he was grateful for the way she was not star struck by his presence, it confused him. All he needed were some answers.

"Ay, Harry!"

The familiar voice brought his spirits up immediately. "Hagrid?" Harry turned around and saw his tall (no matter how much of an underestimate that was) friend. He beamed at him.

"Ow are ya?" Hagrid asked as he looked around for a few moments and then finally stayed standing, because there were no other chairs in the area. His hair was more stuck out, and his beard was more unkempt, than usual. He appeared to have nearly been caught up in a huge gust of wind on his way to the Leaky Cauldron.

"Great, thanks, and yourself?"

"A'right." He pointed to the sleeping figure behind him. "This is 'er?"

Harry nodded, remembering how Dumbledore had said that Hagrid was to take her to Diagon Alley.

"What should we do?" Hagrid asked. He looked around nervously. "I mean, I've gotta get this job done, y'know, we don't got all day."

"Right," Harry replied, biting his lip. "I-I'll wake her up."

"Yeh seem nervous," Hagrid commented, laughing; his whole body shook the floor beneath him.

Ignoring his friend's true statement, Harry got up, feeling numbness in his legs and the arm he was resting on, and walked over to the couch Hermione was sleeping on.

Harry hadn't noticed it before, but now that he saw her face in great detail, he realized that Hermione was actually very pretty. Tragically pretty. Her skin was pale and translucent. Her nose was spotted with freckles, her eyelashes, although attached to closed eyelids, were long, and she had decently high, sharp cheekbones. Her hair was a nice, soft brown color. The tragic part was that there was a red line going around her throat, as though a rope had been tied around it; he gathered that that was why she had been coughing to the point of near-choking before. Harry wondered how the line had gotten there, but Hagrid was now shifting feet in his stance, waiting for Harry.

"Hermione?"

She didn't move.

"Hermione, please wake up. Please?"

Still, no movement.

"'Ermione!" Harry heard Hagrid shout from behind him. "We really don't got much time..."

"What?" she snapped, fluttering her eyelids open and stretching her arms upwards. Finally, her eyes were able to focus on him. "Why – what's – Christ! Who is that? _Who _isthat?"

"He's Hagrid. Don't worry, he's harmless," Harry told her as she sat up, keeping her blanket wrapped around her body tightly.

"Are you – are you a _giant_? I've read about them, you know --"

"Nah, ma'am, I believe giants are a bit taller," Hagrid said, trying to seem unphased by her assumption. Before she could continue, he said, "I'm takin' you to Diagon Alley, we'll buy all your school supplies. Dumbledore couldn't find anyone else to help you with the trip, seein' as there's a bit of a crisis --" he paused, wearing the expression that screamed he was wondering if he had said too much. "Anyways, I'll help yeh with buying books, a wand, y'know, the usual."

Hermione slowly sat upright on the couch, hesitation radiating from her expression. "Books?" Her voice sounded almost accusing, as though she didn't trust him about what he just said.

"Well, bein' that yeh don' got lots o' money, we'll need to keep the spendin' down," he noted. "Only buyin' what ya need."

The girl looked extremely confused. "Of course I have money."

"Er...Miss Granger, I was just assuming --" And Harry didn't blame him. She was wearing a shirt that looked like she had jumped into a pile of dirt, and it sported several holes.

Hermione shook her head and pulled something out of her back pocket. It took Harry a few seconds to realize that it was actually money. Muggle money. "I guess they didn't want to invade my privacy when I was unconscious," she gathered, no longer sounding accusing but rather pensive. "I look like I don't have money, I get it," she said with a sigh. "I never saw the need to buy tons of clothes, I bet I'm the only girl out there like that. I've been saving the money for something --" she stopped for a minute, counting the notes. "Now I don't need the money for that, though. I'd much rather use it on books." The moment Hermione mentioned books, her eyes lit up. It was like a new person had sprung from the cautious, accusing Hermione.

"What were you saving up for?" Harry asked, in awe at the surprising amount of pounds she held in her small hand.

Hermione glanced at him. "Something I don't need anymore."

"Well I know _that_, you already told us --"

"Don't worry about it," she interrupted, looking away from him.

"How did you get all that money, then?" Harry asked. He predicted her giving an obvious answer that he already suspected, or just avoiding answering altogether, but he was willing to take a chance to get even the slightest knowledge about this mysterious girl.

"None of your business." So no knowledge there.

She clenched her jaw shut and looked up at Hagrid. "Are we going now?"

Hagrid appeared to have seen a ghost. His wide eyes ventured from Harry to Hermione, and back to Harry. "Uh, yes, yes we'll go now. I'm afraid we won't have time to stop by Gringotts to turn your money into wizarding money, though. And Harry, yeh should prolly be getting' yer supplies, too. Care ter join us?"

Unlike what Harry had expected, Hermione did not protest. If it meant spending some time with his good friend Hagrid, Harry thought, might as well go. He nodded.

"Why couldn't Professor Dumbledore assist me after his meeting?" Hermione asked as she slowly stood up. Her jeans were faded and had many stains. If she had so much money, couldn't she bother to at least visit a laundromat?

"Well, Miss Granger, Dumbledore has more important things to deal with," Hagrid said nonchalantly, gesturing them to keep walking.

She seemed disappointed. "His office is always open at school," Harry said automatically to reassure her. Hermione surprised him again by not making any comment, but nodding. Sensing some kind of acceptance – no matter how much a voice in the back of his head told him it was false – he continued. "What's so fascinating about Dumbledore that you'd rather him assist you?" He tried his best not to sound like he was interrogating her; it was a simple question, hopefully she would understand.

Hermione shrugged. "He dresses funny." Harry chuckled. "He's interesting, too. And he thinks I'm a talented witch." He witnessed her faintly smile.

"What kind of incident did you cause to make him think that?" he asked, trying to sound as innocent as possible as well as extract information from her.

"Excuse me?"

"Sent chalk at the teacher's skull, broke tons of glass...whatever helped you realize you were a witch?"

"Oh!" Hermione said, her expression one of sudden realization. Then it turned to the same stern one she had before; her jaw clenched tightly again. "I...I broke a vase."

"Must've been a special vase," Harry said as Hagrid told them that they better get moving.

-----

"Wow."

Harry nodded. Diagon Alley was crowded, as usual, with the floods of wizards and witches running from store to store, carrying their bags and careful to not spill any potions they had purchased. Students were being dragged to different places by their parents, who were eager to get the best price on school materials. A few adults with extremely curious children looked lost, and it was apparent that the adults had given birth to a muggleborn. Harry and Hermione themselves didn't seem to fit in; both of them wore muggle clothing, which contrasted immensely against the robes that flew past them.

The face of Sirius Black, "A murderer" as Stan had described him, was on several posters. Hagrid flinched at the sight of the poster that was just inches away from them; and Harry noticed that several other people did the same near the posters, as though the poster repeated the word "Voldemort" over and over again.

"We'll stop by Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions first, to get school robes outta the way, since 'Ermione needs them," Hagrid told them.

Hermione was barely paying attention to what Hagrid was saying. She seemed to be too caught up with the sight of wizards and witches, wearing vivid colors and outfits that were odd to her eyes, rushing about. Hagrid had to shout "Oi!" for her to finally realize that they were walking away from her and into the store.

"Hello, Mr. Potter," Madam Malkin said the moment the three of them walked through the doorway. "You've gotten taller, do you need new robes?"

"No, this girl does though --"

"Both of you? Great," she replied with. A bright smile widened her lips.

Hagrid looked over at Harry and pointed outside, then left, just as he had done two years ago. Harry wondered if he'd return with ice cream, like he had the previous time.

He hadn't noticed Madam Malkin leaving, but she returned with two robes. "Got the Gryffindor crest on yours, Mr. Potter," she said proudly.

"Thank you."

"And you, Miss? What house are you?"

Hermione quickly turned to the squat woman with her brown eyes wide. "Me? Oh – I – I don't know yet. But one of the Aurors told me that they'd bring the Sorting Hat for me to be sorted on the train."

" New student?" Madam Malkin said, fitting a robe over Hermione. Then she walked over to Harry, who was just a few feet away, and slid his robe on.

"Yeah."

"Oh, are you one of those Beauxbatons girls? You're definitely pretty enough to --"

"No, no," Hermione said, blushing.

"What's Beauxbatons?" Harry asked.

"Mr. Potter, you've hung out with boys at Hogwarts for two years, and none of them mentioned Beauxbatons?" Madam Malkin asked. She winked at Hermione, who seemed to know what on Earth the woman was talking about. Neither of them answered. "My God, you're thin," she said to Hermione as she returned to double-check the hem of the robes.

Hermione blushed again. "Fast metabolism I guess."

"Get some meat on those bones, sweetie, please," Madam Malkin said as she tightened the waist of the robe to fit Hermione. Harry had noticed that she was really thin, but she was practically skeletal, now that he was paying close attention to her. Was her metabolism that fast? Did she have one of those eating disorders that were popular amongst girls their age?

The witch, after making a few more comments ("Your arms are like sticks!", "I can practically see your bone from here."), went over to fit Harry's robes. Within minutes, the two were done, made their purchases, and Hagrid made perfect timing by showing up at the doorway as they were about to exit, bags in hand.

"Now, Flourish and Blotts," Hagrid announced. "That's the book store."

Hermione's face lit up once again. Harry didn't understand what was with this girl and books, but at least she'd be somewhat vulnerable, in a happy state, to answer questions. He was still determined to find out more about her.

She looked like Dudley on Christmas morning when they walked into the book store. The walls were covered in shelves filled with all different sized and shaped books. Immediately, she ran to the nearest bookshelf and scanned the bindings.

"Let's let 'er be," Hagrid whispered to Harry. Nodding in agreement, Harry followed Hagrid to get two of each of the necessary books for their third year. Fifteen minutes later, they decided to split up in order to find Hermione. Finding someone in Flourish and Blotts was more complicated than finding the Gryffindor common room during his first year. Finally, within ten minutes, he found her looking at books about ancestry.

"I thought only muggles were interested in DNA," Hermione commented, noticing his presence even though she didn't make eye contact with him. "But this book even has a feature that if you draw blood and put it on the page, it draws up your whole family tree. Pictures, names, everything. Even if you're muggleborn. Amazing, right?"

Harry didn't know how to respond, so he just nodded. He was not used to this interested, almost _kind_ Hermione. "Are you going to buy it?" he asked.

"We don't have time to stop at Gringotts," she said. "I've read about Gringotts, quite amazing, really. All those goblins working there, and it has carts that lead to vaults, and dragons guard the extremely important vaults. Real dragons!"

"I could buy that book for you, if you'd like," he offered. Perhaps she'd make peace with him if he were to purchase the book for her? While he believed that friendship couldn't be bought, maybe they could become on normal speaking terms at least.

Instead of thanking him, Hermione looked at him with the expression of a deer caught in headlights. "Why?"

"Generosity, I suppose," he replied.

"So you're famous _and _loaded?" The way her eyes focused on him made her appear like she was judging or second-guessing him. "Figured."

"Just inherited money, really," Harry said plainly.

"I see."

After a minute-long silence, he asked, "Would you like me to buy it for you?"

She shook her head. "I can take care of myself."

"Listen, just let me buy it for you. It's nothing."

"But I can take care of myself," Hermione repeated, seeming to be in some type of trance.

"This isn't about taking care of yourself. Do you want the book or not?"

Hermione held the book, seeming to be out of her trance, stared at it, and swallowed roughly. "I _do_ want it," she said in a near whisper. Her hands were shaking, and he assumed there was something about this book that she desperately needed, not wanted. "I can pay you back."

Harry extracted it from her thin hands, ignoring her offer. "Glad that's settled then. And we got your school books."

Hermione was quiet when they purchased the books at the register, when Harry handed her the DNA book, and even when they left the store.

"So, Harry, how was yer summer?" Hagrid asked as they walked down Diagon Alley, not really paying attention to where they were going or where they planned on going next.

"The usual," Harry replied with a sigh. "At least I'm not in the cupboard anymore."

Hagrid nodded. "I heard you went on the Knight Bus. How was that?"

Harry paused, thinking about his answer. "Interesting," was the only way he could sum it up. His friend laughed, his entire body trembling.

"Yeah, Stan an' Ernie are interestin' fellows. And sometimes the other passengers aren't the most normal people around, if yeh know what I mean." Hagrid stopped in his tracks. "Miss Granger, do yeh wanna pet?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Er..."

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," Hagrid said with his friendly grin. "Which kind? Owl? Toad? Cat? I'd recommend not getting' a toad, though, pretty nasty. Owls are pretty good --"

"I can take care of myself..."

"What's that?"

"A cat," Hermione answered, a small smile playing on her lips now. "Please. I've always wanted one, but I couldn't have one."

"Did someone in your family have allergies?" Harry asked. Dudley claimed to have been allergic to Harry a few years ago.

"No."

"Right, The Magical Menagerie is right 'ere. Again, we gotta be quick, it's not saf-- we don't have a lot of time," Hagrid said as they opened the door to the shop.

Different sounds of different animals met their ears the moment they stepped through the doorway (which Hagrid had to squeeze through). Cages upon cages were stacked, full of toads and owls and cats and animals Harry could only guess at what species they were, against the walls and in isles.

Immediately, Hagrid began giving them a Care of Magical Creatures lesson right there in the store. Hermione already began wandering off, scanning the various colored cats. Harry was greeted by a few gawking witches who seemed to be about three years older than him, more or less, before he could catch up to her. Hermione turned around and noticed that he was following her. "I'm fine!" she shouted over the loud noises of the animals. Although even if there weren't the disrupting sounds between them, Harry had a feeling that she would've used a shouting voice anyways. Not wanting her to fall into the same trance with "I can take care of myself", he abandoned her in the first isle of cats and returned to Hagrid. Harry listened to his friend as he went on about the details of every creature they passed. He heard about the gestation period of female toads and other details that he really didn't want to know, but he politely paid attention as they walked around the shop aimlessly. Then they found Hermione, even though they had no intentions of doing so.

"What?" she questioned, but she wasn't referring to them. There was a ginger cat with a face that looked like someone had ironed it down. It was at her ankles, walking in between her feet and looking up at her. Then Hermione picked up the cat and pet it. She looked up and saw Harry and Hagrid.

Before she could react, Hagrid commented, "It seems ter like yeh."

"That cat doesn't like anyone," someone said, intervening. A tall young man with blond hair and a boyish face walked up to them. "He avoids everyone. Genius, though. Someone was stealing a toad from the store a few weeks back, and the ginger here scratched at the man's legs. And then --"

"Part kneazle?" Hagrid cut in, his beady eyes wide with interest.

"Yes, sir. Half kneazle, to be precise. Intelligent creatures. Great pet."

Hermione continued to pet the cat-kneazle...whatever it was. "So, is he protective?"

"Oh yes, very, ma'am," the young man said. "Would you like to buy him? You're the only person he's ever walked up to, that's definitely a great sign."

Hermione looked up at Hagrid, biting her lip anxiously. "I could pay you back? I'll get to Gringotts eventually, I'm sure, maybe Dumbledore could bring me there one day."

"No need ter," Hagrid said as he paid the blonde right there.

"Crookshanks," Hermione whispered as they left the store.

"Bless you."

"No, no, I'm naming the cat Crookshanks," Hermione said. She turned to Hagrid. "If he's so magical, how come nobody wanted him?"

Hagrid smiled, preparing to unleash his knowledge about magical creatures. "Sometimes, kneazles wait fer someone to be a good companion for _them_. Maybe he didn' want anyone else. They choose their owners. They're great on their own, that's where the cat part comes in, and they can teach themselves. Amazin'."

"Are you a professor?"

He beamed at her. "I'm the gamekeeper at Hogwarts, and I'll be teachin' Care of Magical Creatures this year, thanks to Harry, Ginny, and Ron for clearing my name."

Hermione nodded – Harry remembered the book, _Monster Book of Monsters_, Hagrid had given him that attacked him – although she clearly didn't know who Ginny and Ron were. Then again, she didn't really seem like the person to ask too many questions; that was the person Harry was being when she seemed in the mood for answering them. On their way to Ollivanders, Hagrid gave Hermione tips on how to take care of Crookshanks, although it didn't seem like such a difficult task to take care of a cat.

"Now, this is very important. We're gonna buy yer wand. It's sort of when yeh got Crookshanks, it chooses _you_," Hagrid told her. "Right o'er here, Ollivander's Wand Shop. His family's been makin' wands since 382 B.C."

Hermione nodded again as the three of them made their way to the store which held the sign "Olivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C." in faded gold lettering above the door. Had they not noticed boxes instead of books, it would've looked like a library. Hermione coughed, a reaction to the abundance of dust in the air, and Crookshanks shifted instantly, his eyes wide against his flat face. Ollivander was standing in the second isle, organizing the boxes with increasing focus, mumbling to himself. But once the small bell rang at the swing of the door, he turned towards them. His silver eyes reflected in the dull light above him.

"Ah, Harry Potter, good to see you again. Or perhaps not, if your wand has been destroyed?" he said, walking towards him.

"No, sir, I've got it," Harry told him, holding up the proof. "Holly and phoenix," he said in unison with Ollivander.

"Good afternoon, Rubeus. What brings you to Ollivanders?" Ollivander asked, this time facing Hagrid.

"New witch," Hagrid began. "Hermione Granger is going to attend Hogwarts with the third years. I believe Prof --"

"Oh yes, yes, Albus told me to expect her visit. You performed wandless magic, Miss?"

A light shade of pink rose to Hermione's cheeks. "Sort of," she said quietly, petting Crookshanks and avoiding eye contact with everyone. "It was an accident. I didn't want it to turn out the way it did." She flinched, and Harry wondered, thinking back, why a broken vase was so important.

Ollivander held his gaze at her for another moment or two and then said, in his soft voice, "Let's find you a wand, shall we? Or I should say, let's allow a wand to find _you_." Hagrid sat down in the same chair he had sat down on two years ago, but Harry decided to follow Hermione as she tagged along with Mr. Ollivander down the third isle of wands. "Here, try this one," he said as he extracted a box from a shelf near his eye line. "Eleven inches, willow and cherry, slightly springy."

"What do I do?" Hermione asked, holding the wand and gazing at it with extreme curiosity.

"Just wave it at something, preferably not very fragile."

Hermione pointed the wand at the floor and then waved it in a shaky circle. Black ink shot out of it and bounced off the carpet and hit the ceiling, staining it. She hastily gave it back to Mr. Ollivander, biting her lip. He seemed to be unphased at the new mark in his ceiling as he walked down the isle and ran his finger across various boxes that were blanketed in dust. "Here, vine wood and dragon heartstring. Very strong, for a strong witch with excellent potential."

She took the wand more casually this time and smiled. She waved it at the floor again, looking more confident than before. A bright red spark was emitted from the tip of the wand and didn't reach the carpet beneath them.

"Brilliant!" Ollivander said happily, clapping his wrinkled hands together. Even his misty eyes were smiling.

"Can I practice spells?" Hermione asked Harry after they left the wand shop.

"Nope."

" But I'm really behind in everything, I need to practice. Maybe they'd understand if I tried out _something_..."

"Harry's right, Hermione, yeh can't practice spells. Against the law. Although Dumbledore's tryin' ter make an exception with the Ministry of Magic at the meeting he's at right now, while making all your paperwork...y'know, to show your existence an' all. Professor Lupin will teach you simple spells right in the Leaky Cauldron," Hagrid told her as they actually entered the Leaky Cauldron. "For now, you'll just have to hold on tight."

"What kind of paperwork?" Harry asked Hermione.

She smirked and walked back to the couch where he had first seen her.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I had to do some research for this chapter, to write all the stores, items, etc. of Diagon Alley correctly. I opened my copy of Sorcerer's Stone, and my God, I have never seen so much dust on a book in my life – I bought the book eight years ago, when I was in first grade. I hope this chapter doesn't suck. Although it probably does, because I didn't proofread it, nor do I have a beta. For readers of "Tears", I'm working on what to do with the story, so please bear with me. Reviews, suggestions, and critiques are always welcome. Thanks for reading :)


	3. The Question Game

**Author's Note:** Here's another chapter. Obviously. I'm trying my best to bring out certain things about this Hermione that are the same as the normal Hermione. She'll open up later on and more traits will be revealed. Right now, she's a defensive wall and I apalogize. Although we do figure out some things during the chapter. Thanks to everyone has reviewed, alerted, and favorited this story :D So yes, please enjoy this chapter (:

* * *

How to Love

_Chapter Three: The Question Game_

Harry wondered when he would ever see Hermione's face again. It had been plunged into _DNA: Family Tree Edition_ ever since she sat back down after returning from Diagon Alley. Whenever he tried to start a conversation – which was, admittedly, only once – she immediately raised her right index finger to silence him into awkwardness. So he just sat there, not sure whether he was waiting for Hermione to take a breath from reading or for something amusing to happen. The only real distractions he had were the double takes people made when they saw the Boy Who Lived right before their eyes, the murmuring of the name Sirius Black, and the occasional drunk falling off his barstool.

"If I use this page to construct my family tree, will I get in trouble for using magic?" Hermione popped out from behind her book.

"Dunno," Harry said, trying to think back to everything he'd been told about what magic was okay out of school, but he was drawing a blank. He attempted to remain as casual as possible. In truth, he was grateful for her return to reality. "Why do you like that book so much?"

"It's interesting," she replied. "I'd imagine that's why most people choose books – because they're interesting."

"But...it's DNA and family trees. It's just like those science textbooks from muggle school."

Hermione paused for a minute, looking very thoughtful. "Maybe I'm interested in DNA."

"Why?"

"Why do you ask so many questions?" Hermione snapped.

"Maybe _you're_ interesting."

"Ha!" Hermione put the book back in front of her face once again. She was silent for a little while – although it seemed like a century – then finally, her book was placed in her lap. "How long have you been here?"

Harry counted the days in his head – seventh, eighth, ninth... "A week and a half."

"Well, that explains it." Harry shot her a confused look. "Staying in this place for that long must drive anyone insane. I'm just the shiny new toy; the distraction."

He had no idea what she meant by this. "No, I – I really do think you're interesting."

Hermione smirked and put her book on the table beside the couch she was sitting on. She propped herself up and then forward, so that she was leaning toward him. "What's so interesting about me?"

Harry crossed his arms across his chest. "You never answer _my_ questions, I'm not answering yours."

"I don't need to ask questions, now that I think of it," Hermione said, as she picked up her book once again. Although when she read, she kept the book open in her lap, so Harry was able to witness her thoughtful expression. "Books obsess over you, like you're some kind of God. It got annoying by the fifth book I read that dedicated a chapter to you."

"All books talk about is how I survived the killing curse, and how my parents were killed. It's all common knowledge. You don't know anything about me," Harry said with a tone of finality in his voice.

"So we're just dodging answers then?" Hermione asked. Harry felt that this was a question that was unconsciously answered between the two of them. With one final smirk, she put the book back in front of her face and was unseen for the remainder of the day.

---

Harry was awakened by the morning's sunlight filtering through the dirt on the window of room eleven. It took him five minutes to finally be able to sit up properly without collapsing back onto the squeaky mattress. Not bothering to check his appearance in the small, grimy mirror in the corner of the room, Harry got dressed and went downstairs to the main room of the Leaky Cauldron. There were already a few people sitting at the bar, while others sat in the back room, asleep. The odd stench of the Cauldron filled his nose just as it had for the past week and a half.

"Good morning, Harry!" Tom greeted him. "I've got some oatmeal ready for you, figured you'd be up early again."

Harry thanked him, took the bowl of oatmeal, and sat down at a table that was solitary from all the other ones. While the breakfast wasn't the best meal provided, he still ate it all. It had taken him a while to get used to being served food after spending time at the Dursleys; it was the same feeling he had the first week of school, eating meals in the Great Hall that had appeared in thin air.

"You mentioned muggle textbooks a few days ago," a vaguely familiar, roughened voice told him. The owner of the voice walked closer to him and sat down across from him at the small table. Hermione hadn't properly talked to him in three days. She had sat down on that same couch, read that DNA book, ate, and took naps. Once in a while, she'd ask Harry about some magical terms that she read about, or what the time was. But other that that, she was quiet and wore a thoughtful expression.

Harry sensed the question she was asking. He forgot about how he had been determined to beg her for her fair share of answers. "I was raised by muggles. I guess I still am raised by them. Just over the summer now."

"Did you live in an orphanage?" she asked, her voice sounding a bit shaky now.

"Nope," he said, looking down into the empty bowl in front of him. "I was raised by my Aunt Petunia – my mum's sister – and her husband, Uncle Vernon, and their prat, Dudley."

Hermione curved one side of her mouth upward. "Prat? So I guess you don't like them?"

"That's a bit of an understatement."

"Did you run away from them?" she asked.

"Am _I_ interesting now?" was his reply, and it earned him an amused smile. "I want to know a little more about you before I reveal my own life story."

Hermione's smile faded. "I don't have a middle name. There's something about me."

Harry raised an eyebrow at her.

"Well, I don't." Hermione put her elbows on the table, leaned toward him, and lowered the volume of her voice. "How we play a little game...I ask you a question, you answer it, and you ask me a question that's just as easy to answer."

"What if I don't want to answer it?" Harry asked, putting his own elbows on the table now.

"Then say 'pass'.

"But saying 'pass' raises even more questions, to be honest," he argued. "And it seems pretty unfair that you're asking the questions first."

"Sorry, Captain Curious," she told him. "Why is your hair so messy?"

"That's rhetor– I mean, you're the one who stuck their nose in a book about genetics for the past few days," Harry said, running his hands through what Hermione was just talking about. He felt very comfortable with her, now that she was attempting to make conversation with him. "Why is your hair brown?"

"Genetics," she said with a knowing smile. "Who are Ron and Ginny?"

He was surprised that she remembered their names, since they were mentioned only once in Diagon Alley, and she hadn't even been in that conversation. "Ron's my best friend, and Ginny's his little sister. Ron's our age, and Ginny is a year younger."

"But you wouldn't call Ginny your other best friend," Hermione observed, squinting her eyes.

"No – Well, yes, but not really. She's just a friend that tags along with us. She's kind of embarrassed around me now, though, ever since I saved her from the Chamber of Secrets," he rambled.

"What in the world is–?"

"No, no, my turn to ask," Harry informed her. He straightened his back and paused to think. "Who are your friends?"

"That's much more vague than my question, it's not as easy," Hermione argued.

"Who's your best friend?" he said cautiously, wondering if it was going to be accepted.

"Anthony." There was a change in her expression that worried him; she looked either very angry or very sad, Harry wasn't completely sure. "He was our age." Hermione's eyes widened, and she wore the same mask of worry that Hagrid wore when he had said too much.

"Was?" Harry asked. He could only assume that this Anthony passed away. He felt sympathy for the girl who sat in front of him. He wanted to ask her what happened, how important he was to her, what Harry could do for her...

"My turn to ask," she snapped. "What's the Chamber of Secrets?" Hermione's arms were across her chest and her jaw was tightened, making her look defensive ever since she mentioned this Anthony.

Harry didn't known Hermione well, but he knew enough that if he dragged something on for too long, she would give him the cold shoulder. "Just – just a secret place in Hogwarts. It was this mad legend, but me and Ron found it...when Ginny had been taken into the Chamber...Tom Riddle, Voldemort's real name, or at least his younger version, lived in a diary Ginny had – had written in and tried to return again. It's – it's complicated," he stammered.

Hermione raised her eyebrows but kept everything else about her posture the same. "There are places like that at Hogwarts? Is it really dangerous? Have people died there?" He wondered if she was asking so many questions so quickly to distract herself from their previous topic.

"One question per turn," Harry reminded her. "Calm yourself," he added with a gentle smile, hoping to get a smile in return. He didn't.

"This is a very serious matter," Hermione defended. She pursed her lips together.

He sighed. "If you stay out of trouble, you'll be fine."

"But you make trouble," she noted. Before he could speak, she added, "That wasn't a question, relax."

"I guess I do," he admitted. "Do _you_ make trouble?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Trouble finds _me_," she said plainly. "That's why I'm here. I feel like I'm in some kind of prison. It's so dark and it smells bad. Reminds me of a cupboard."

Harry shifted in his seat.

"Oh!" Hermione continued. A light bulb might as well have been illuminating above her head. "I meant to ask you about that. You mentioned a cupboard to Hagrid when we were in Diagon Alley. 'At least I'm not living in the cupboard anymore'."

He cursed her ability to catch onto things easily. Harry was so used to speaking to Ron, who didn't catch on to anything even if it danced right in front of him.

"And?"

"Let me form that into a question," she said, suddenly sounding formal-like. "Were you living in a cupboard or something?"

Harry paused, wondering whether to say 'pass' or conjure a lie. "Or something, yes. I was living in a house."

"Where did you live?" he asked after Hermione gave him a challenging look.

"London," she said stiffly.

"No cupboards? No broom closets?"

"What on Earth are broom closets for?" Hermione asked.

He shook his head. "Is that your question for me?"

"No," she snapped, leaning back so that she was resting completely on the back of her chair. "Why are you here?"

"Aunt Marge – Uncle Vernon's sister – was visiting. I kind of lost my temper and inflated her like a balloon," he told her. "Then I ran away and boarded the Knight Bus for stranded witches and wizards. It goes bloody fast. I ended up getting dropped off here, and the Ministry of Magic decided to keep me here for the rest of the summer."

"Wow" was her quiet response.

"So," he said, holding in his anticipation. "Why are _you_ here?"

"Pass," Hermione replied immediately.

"I think there should be a limit to how many times someone can say 'pass'."

"My game, my rules." Hermione held eye contact with him and gave him that familiar daring look.

Harry rested his chin on his palm. "Please, can you tell me?"

"Why does it matter?"

"I'm just curious," he said, trying to sound as innocent as possible.

"I've noticed," Hermione stated. She plunged right into the next question. "Why are your clothes so huge on you?"

"They're hand-me-downs from a whale," Harry explained.

"You couldn't just buy your own clothes?"

"That's a question."

Hermione raised her hands in pretend surrender. "I mean, I don't see why you couldn't just buy your own clothes."

"I don't see why I couldn't, either," he agreed.

"Oh." Harry was grateful for her ability to understand things easily without him needing to elaborate anything. "Well...while you're stuck in this prison, maybe you should go venture off and buy some new clothes. I don't think anyone would notice if you disappeared for a few hours," Hermione suggested.

"A few hours of shopping?" The idea sounded vile already.

She laughed. "Actually, to be honest, I don't like shopping either. I've got clothes and food, and I'm happy."

This reminded him of a question he had formed in his head just a few days ago, right before they went to Diagon Alley. "You showed us tons of money three days ago...where did you get it from?"

Hermione tucked a piece of hair behind her right ear and leaned toward him the same way she did when she introduced the question game to him. "I tutor."

"Magic? Or just muggle stuff?"

"Muggle stuff, of course," she told him, surprisingly accepting his follow-up question. "It would be pretty arrogant of me to think I know everything about magic when I haven't even been to bloody school for it yet."

"True." Harry was now thinking of a new question to ask her when she was finished talking about books and tutoring and such.

"Basically," Hermione continued, "I dress all nice and fancy when I introduce myself to these families in London. So yes, I do have nice clothes," she added as Harry raised an eyebrow at her wrinkled blue t-shirt. "I just wear them to seem professional. Under the table payments of a wage that I insist is paid. I've been tutoring since I was eleven. Nobody asked questions about my background, it was great." She stressed _it was great_, and Harry assumed that this was supposed to make him feel guilty.

"Did you get your Hogwarts letter the summer of 1991?" Harry asked the question that he'd formed when she talked about not going to a magic school before.

"You've run out of questions," she told him.

"But you let that other question slide --"

Hermione removed her arms from the table and crossed them across her chest. "That's not fair. I was having a...bookworm moment. My most vulnerable state." No matter how silly it sounded to Harry, Hermione said it all very seriously.

He gave up and didn't dare to press the subject. There were so many questions that he wanted to ask her, but now he was losing hope. Hermione's answers were almost like teases; trouble found her, but there were no examples. She lived in London, but London was a huge place. She wouldn't budge.

---

_Miss Granger,_

_The use of this DNA book is completely acceptable. Conjure your family tree as you wish. I understand your desire to unlock such secrets. I have gone through your paperwork, although I don't believe a letter is the best place to discuss these things. But as I have said, use the book, it's legal._

Wishing you the best,

_Professor Dumbledore_

"Oi, Hermione," Harry called. "Dumbledore wrote back."

Hermione had used Hedwig to contact Dumbledore, asking him if using the DNA book she'd been obsessing over was legal, since she was underage and not at Hogwarts.

"It's legal!" she exclaimed, a wide smile spreading across her pale face. "I – wow – that's –" She rambled on about the excellence of the situation as Harry thought. This paperwork Dumbledore spoke of was one thing Harry hadn't bothered her about. It sounded very important and discreet. Since Hermione was apparently a talented witch, he didn't want to risk her hexing him – however illegal that may be – into next Tuesday.

Hermione ran over to the book and held it so graciously and cautiously, one would've thought it was the very Bible. She opened it to a page that she seemed to have known by heart. Harry sat beside her on the couch. Ever since their question game yesterday, they had been inseparable; after all, they were the only thirteen-year-olds in the Leaky Cauldron. It was inevitable.

The page Hermione opened up to was completely blank, except for its golden rim dressing all four sides. She took out a small dagger – Harry did not even dare to ask where she had gotten it – and pricked her finger. Most girls would have shrieked in that girlish way of theirs from the small amount of pain, but Hermione was nonchalant. A drop of blood touched the parchment, and Hermione pulled her hand away. And together, they watched the magic occur right before their eyes.

A colored, moving picture of Hermione appeared at the bottom of the page. Then a branch ventured upwards and split in half after a few centimeters. Pictures of two people, a woman and a man from each branch, were conjured. Their pictures were in black and white. Then the branches continued to move upwards, leading off the page. In fact, the only colored picture was the one of Hermione. An uneasy feeling settled in Harry's stomach when he read all the names and birth dates. And deaths.

Under Hermione's picture, it read _Hermione Granger. September 19, 1979 to present_. Harry quickly glanced at her parents' last names, and it was clear that her parents had not been married. Then he read more into her parents' information. The detail was excruciating. _David Cutting. November 25, 1959 – June 1, 1979_ and _Louise Granger. February 10, 1961 – September 19, 1979_.

* * *

**Author's Note:** We haven't figured nearly everything out about Hermione, although this detail about the parents' deaths is something very important. She's still not going to open up to Harry completely just because he's found out about her parents. I hope yous enjoyed their little question game – I tried to bring a small amount of humor in that as well as show just how much Hermione is willing to hold back. And about Anthony – he'll be talked about later, relax.


	4. Suspicions

**Author's Note:** This chapter has come out later than expected. I went on a week-long vacation that I just got back from today, and I had _planned_ on updating before I left, but I wasn't happy with the chapter so I deleted it and figured I'd rewrite another one after the vacation. So I've just whipped up this chapter, my day back from vacation. I should probably be a few chapters ahead of where I'm updating. Is that the norm nowadays? God, I'm such a noob. I do have good news though. On vacation, we just happened to pass a bookstore, and my family just happened to walk into it, and I just happened to buy a copy of Prisoner of Azkaban. I also read it right after I bought it, which helps. Now I have a brand new copy of the third book that looks so odd next to my battered, nine-year-old copies of the first two books.

**Disclaimer:** Okay, hold the phone, wait a minute. Why on Earth would I have written a series of books where Hermione and Ron fall in love if I'm such an avid HHr shipper? If you think I'm secretly J.K. Rowling and own Harry Potter, I'm flattered, but please get off the internet.

* * *

How to Love

_Chapter Four: Suspicions _

"Well _obviously_ I had no idea, that's why I was so curious!" Hermione snapped furiously, her hair now bushier than usual. "That's why I was so obsessed with that DNA book!"

Hermione was shouting at Harry right in the back of the Leaky Cauldron. Most of the people occupying the Cauldron, though, were too busy chatting about God knows what – though probably Sirius Black, as that seemed to be the primary subject of importance lately – or were too under the influence to notice. Harry was asking her about her parents out of pure curiosity and concern. She had told him it was a mistake to let him see the family tree, especially when she herself didn't know exactly what to expect from it. He had remained calm the entire time, contrasting deeply with Hermione's raising tone.

"You must know something," he said. "Someone must have told you what happened."

"Someone lied to me, that's what happened," she replied. "And it doesn't even matter anymore! None of my past matters, so why are you interrogating me?"

Harry didn't answer her immediately. He sat down on the couch he had when he first met her, sighed, and put the palm of his right hand against his scar. Ignoring her question, he told her, "For eleven years, I was lied to about my own parents' deaths." He saw what he just said as a chance to show just how much he understood her. "I was told that they died in a car crash, and that's how I supposedly got my scar." He removed his hand from his forehead for emphasis.

Hermione bit her lip and sat down on the edge of the couch opposite him. "Nobody said my parents died," she admitted, her voice finally becoming gentle. He was grateful that she didn't show any sympathy for him. That was the one huge reason he enjoyed her company: he wasn't special.

"Then what were you told?"

"I already said it doesn't matter" was her quick response. Hermione's brown eyes remained focused on the ceiling. She sat there and crossed her arms over her chest. Harry had a feeling that this would began another silence between the two once again.

Oh, what he would do to find out more about her. The girl had just found out that her dad died while her mom was pregnant, and then her mom died most likely from childbirth, yet her eyes remained dry. Her strength was something beyond what Harry had ever witnessed when it came to girls. And then his mind drifted to various questions that had been tumbling in his brain, itching to be answered. What had she been told about her parents, then? That they were kidnapped? They were spies and had to stay undercover while their daughter was raised by someone else? Who was she raised by, anyways?

"Miss Granger, I've got you some bread, good to get some food in you," Tom the bartender approached them and handed over a loaf of bread, that was on a white plate, to Hermione. "Slowly getting used to it?"

Harry wasn't sure what Tom meant by 'it'. The Leaky Cauldron? The food? Hermione nodded and thanked him, but didn't eat start to eat immediately. The landlord bowed chivalrously and returned to the front of the Cauldron.

"Want some?" she asked, ripping apart the loaf and offering a piece to Harry.

"Er, no...thanks," he said. After speaking, he realized that it sounded like he had asked her a question: why are you being nice?

"But I'm not going to eat all this."

"You should." She really did need to eat. He could practically see her ribs through her tank top. People who walked into the Cauldron had eyed her skeptically, as wizards dressed more conservatively. He had internally debated over whether or not to tell her that her wardrobe wasn't commonly accepted in the wizarding world, but then wondered if that was inappropriate of him or if she even cared.

"Just because I lack body fat doesn't mean that I'm starving to death all the time, you know."

"Are we arguing over you eating?" Harry asked quizzically. She flinched, looked down at the loaf of bread, and finally began to eat. Hermione had eaten most of the loaf; the leftovers were given to Crookshanks before Harry could protest. "Why are you so skinny, anyways?" he asked after the half-kneazle ate the last of his snack.

"Madam Malkin interrogated me about this already. And I bet you were listening intensely, seeing as you _are_ Captain Curious," Hermione said with what Harry saw as a smirk playing on her lips. "I have a fast metabolism, as I had said before."

"I've never met someone with that kind of metabolism," he said honestly. "Seems really dangerous for your health."

Had he not been paying such close attention to her reaction, he wouldn't have noticed her flinch quickly at his words.

"You haven't talked to many girls, have you?" Hermione asked.

"What does that have to --"

Her forehead met her palm and she looked up at him after letting out an exasperated sigh. "Just don't bring up my thinness again."

"I was just --"

"No, you weren't," she said sharply as she broke eye contact with him, even though she didn't hear him finish with '– concerned'; and to be honest, he wasn't sure if he would have admitted to her that he was concerned. The tone of her voice scared him a bit...he felt his torso leaning backwards, away from her exhausted-looking posture, unconsciously.

Harry wondered what he had done wrong. Mrs. Weasley had constantly reminded him of how much he was concerned about everyone else. Did Hermione really not like him? For a fleeting moment, he feared rejection. He enjoyed her company when she was willing to hold her own weight in conversations. His fame and money didn't seem to matter to her. Harry had been a part of the wizarding world for two years, and he only found a small amount of people like her.

Hermione had taken to petting Crookshanks and closing her eyes. After ten minutes or so of sitting there awkwardly, Harry noticed that the rest of her body had gone so stiff that if her hand wasn't moving, she might as well have been in a deep slumber.

But when a familiar voice called Hermione, she immediately opened her eyes and looked around, alarmed.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore said as he approached the two. Harry asked himself how he could have possibly missed him walking into the Leaky Cauldron. "Harry. How are you two?"

"Fine," they answered in unison, and Hermione looked at him accusingly before returning her gaze to the headmaster – her expression changed completely into one of vast curiosity and happiness.

"I've arranged for Professor Lupin to meet you here now, although I see he is tardy," Dumbledore explained. "He will begin teaching you the basic spells and tactics you will need to get started. And of course, extra lessons will be scheduled for you so that you are able to catch up. It just seemed to cruel to have you start as a first year, especially since it is my own fault that I did not make sure that your Hogwarts letter --"

He was interrupted by a loud cough that – Harry learned seconds later – Hermione made. Harry raised one eyebrow at her, but she refused to make eye contact with him. "Ah, yes, you will be having extra lessons that Professor McGonagall has offered to fit into your schedule. Here it is, packed it in my right pocket just before I left...."

Professor Dumbledore handed her a parchment, and after Hermione's eyes scanned the writing on it, she looked at him as though he had grown another head. "But, Professor, you must have written the wrong times, it says that I'll be having both --"

It was Dumbledore who interrupted her now. "Professor McGonagall will explain it to you on the first day of the term. She has pulled a few strings, as the muggles put it, and you'll manage, I promise."

Hermione replaced her look of confusion back to the curious one, as though emotions were masks and she had three main ones at her fingertips: the accusing, daring one she wore at times with Harry; the confused one she had just displayed; and the curious one that she used just, Harry thought, to confuse him – after all, though she had never actually looked sad, this certain mask displayed her only real optimistic mood, and it was worn when she was talking to _other people_ about magic.

"Oh," Dumbledore continued, raising his hand in the air as though he had merely forgotten to tell someone something and they were walking away from him, "you are allowed to use magic, Miss Granger, if you wish, but I suggest you don't go hexing everything that aggravates you."

Harry had an uncomfortable mental image of Hermione hexing him, screaming _"I told you to stop asking me about my life! It doesn't even matter!"_

"Thank you, Professor!" Hermione said, her eyes nearly gleaming with excitement now. "I promise I won't go after people, Headmaster, I mean, I don't even have the capability...."

" Oh, but you _do_ have the capability." Dumbledore told her and Harry felt completely lost. He felt like saying something just to remind the Professor that he was there. "We just wouldn't want what happened to happen again, of course."

Hermione nodded, and the gleam in her eye faded. Harry wanted to know what on _earth_ they were talking about, but before he could even say anything, Professor Lupin's voice greeted them from the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron. He was wearing his usual shaggy robes, Harry noted as he walked over to them.

"Hello, Hermione," Professor Lupin said with a smile. "And Harry." He turned to Dumbledore. "Sorry I'm late --"

"Not to worry, Remus, we didn't wait long. Now, Miss Granger, I believe you have a lesson to pay attention to, and Harry, surely you could assist this young lady?"

Harry felt heat rise in his cheeks as Dumbledore, Lupin, and Hermione turned to look at him. "Oh, no, I'm sure Professor Lupin will do just fine --"

"Modesty," Dumbledore said lightly. "I believe Miss Granger wouldn't mind you helping her out, especially if she's heard of your battle with a basilisk just last school year..."

"I've heard of it, Professor," Hermione said, facing Harry rather than the person she had addressed. "I overheard a few witches were talking about it two days ago, although I think they were exaggerating, because your left arm looks perfectly normal and not like it was replaced with a fake, indestructible metal one because your original one was ripped apart."

Dumbledore chuckled. "The public does tend to twist stories out of proportion, although we'll assume you understand the general story about Harry defeating a basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets."

Harry's face must have been as red as Ron's hair at this point, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, waiting for the Headmaster to stop complimenting him in his presence. He was prepared to insist that it was all luck – which, in his mind, it was – when Hermione distracted them from the topic of Harry by saying "Professor, it's getting late, could we start the lesson, please?"

"How rude of me," Dumbledore replied. "Of course you're very eager to learn, and here I am, boasting about Harry's accomplishments. I bit you all farewell, and good luck, Miss Granger." And with one final wink, the Headmaster walked out of the Leaky Cauldron, his robes sparkling behind him, and disappeared.

Professor Lupin cleared his throat and began. "So, yes, Hermione, we'll begin with wand movement before studying basic charms. It's very important that you put force into your wrist and hand as you perform spells, especially hexes. But we won't start with those until later on."

Hermione nodded and extracted her wand from the pocket of her jeans. She held it carefully in her right hand and held her gaze with Lupin as he demonstrated with his own wand. His messy, torn sleeves swayed as he moved his arm to show Hermione the precise movement of what Harry remembered learning when he was taught W_ingardium leviosa_.

Dumbledore was right: Hermione was a talented witch. Harry had taken out a book about Quidditch that he bought in Diagon Alley the day he arrived there, and stayed as focused as he could on it, but he couldn't help but notice that Hermione had mastered _Wingardium leviosa_ within a half hour...for Merlin's sake, she was levitating bloody _tables_ across the room. Within three hours, she was performing all sorts of spells, and it was quite scary. Harry was almost worried, now, that she would levitate one of the tables into him if he asked her another question about her background. He hadn't expected her to be terrible, but at the same time, he certainly hadn't expected her to be so talented. It made him even more curious about what she had done exactly that made her discover that she was a witch. After Dumbledore's performance of how brilliant she was, there was simply no way that she could've just broken a vase. It was something more than that, and Hermione always had the same reaction that Harry couldn't decipher – Guilt? Sadness? Embarrassment? – to its acknowledgement.

"Wonderful, Hermione! Professor Dumbledore told me that you had potential, but this is just extraordinary!" Professor Lupin beamed after four hours. One would imagine that he would've looked more worn out after hours of teaching an unexperienced witch, but the youth in his face was more noticeable now.

"Thank you," Hermione said, blushing and biting her lip.

"I believe you'll be the best in your year once you've caught up with the rest." And after mentioning a few last-minute tips, Lupin left the same way Dumbledore had.

Hermione sighed, collapsed onto the couch behind her, and closed her eyes. She looked quite the opposite of Lupin. "Don't get me wrong, I love magic, but it really drains the energy from you after a few hours." It was a general statement; she might as well have been talking to the wall.

"After a while, you get used to it," Harry told her after a moment's hesitation. "At first, yeah, it's hard to get into the rhythm, especially when you've grown up with Muggles...or whatever you grew up with."

Her bottom lip twitched, and he wasn't sure what it meant exactly, but she replied with, "It's not like I grew up with aliens." She paused to smirk, and her eyes were still closed. "I think I'll...I'll go to bed."

Finally, her eyes opened, and she lazily stood up – or, at least, she tried to. Hermione fumbled as she got up, and Harry immediately rushed to her side.

"Relax, relax," she muttered after being able to catch herself without his help. "I'm fine, Speed Demon."

"So, I'm not Captain Curious anymore?"

"Oh, no, you're both now." She smirked again, then rubbed her eyes. Cool night air rushed in through the open doorway of the Cauldron, and they both shivered. "Alright, I'm gonna go to sleep...really this time...."

But then Hermione began coughing. Her eyes were watering, she clutched her throat and nearly gagged. "Tom! Water!" Harry exclaimed as he led Hermione to the couch she had just stood up from. Her loud coughs were more than alarming; he had never heard someone cough so loudly before. She shook her head and quickly waved a hand that had been clutching her throat, as though letting him know that she was fine. But she certainly didn't seem it.

Tom, the landlord and bartender, ran with a full glass of water and a package of what looked like Callie Corbin's Cough Drops. "Oh, not again..." he mumbled as he tipped the water into Hermione's mouth. She spit out the water at first, but then drank the entire glass. Harry just sat there, staring at her, not knowing what to do other than wait for her to finally breathe properly.

"Alright, she's alright," Tom said, patting Harry on the shoulder, as though he were the one needing the comfort. "Happens once in a while. St. Mungo's really needs to take a look at her...."

After Tom returned to the front of the Leaky Cauldron, Harry looked over at Hermione, who refused to return his gaze. "Er, what just happened?"

"I have a cold," she said briskly.

"No, you don't," Harry replied sharply. He was surprised at his tone, and Hermione seemed to have the same reaction he had. She removed her hands from her neck, and he saw, more clearly now, the red line around her throat. "Does it have to do with that red line?"

Hermione froze. "No."

"Did someone try to --"

"No! I said no!" Hermione snapped. She turned swiftly on her heels and retreated to upstairs, where her room must've been.

Harry didn't believe any of it.

* * *

**Author's Note:** This chapter sucks. So do my self-promotion skills. Anyways, I'll try to make it up to you, I know what I'm doing for the next chapter, it's already sort of written...in my mind, at least. I believe I'll have Ron enter the story now, whatcha think? Or maybe we'll savor in another pratless chapter. Who knows. Please review if you have the time, and thank you to everyone who has reviewed already :)


	5. Meet the Weasleys

**Author's Note:** Hello :) I plan on updating the story every weekend. There. Now I'm officially bonded to this Weasleys are in this chapter lyk omgz. I'm trying to fit this story into canon as much as possible without stealing the actual plot, because I think that is illegal. And in case it's not clear in this chapter, instead of telling Harry to stay in Diagon Alley, Fudge recommended the opposite because there might be a Disguise!Sirius or something. Anyways, I love foreshadowing, because I feel like I actually know what I'm doing. I also love plainly foreshadowing foreshadowing. Whether or not that made any sense, please enjoy :)

**Disclaimer:** Since I mentioned how I'm not trying to steal the plot of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, might as well put one of these in here. I do not own Harry Potter. Honest.

* * *

How to Love

_Chapter Five: Meet the Weasleys_

Hermione was avoiding Harry. He only saw her in the main room of the Leaky Cauldron to retrieve her meals. She'd eat in silence, not even look in his direction, and then return upstairs to her room. It wasn't the loneliness that bothered him – Merlin knew so many years at the Dursleys with no friends got him used to the loneliness – but it was the way Hermione ran away from him a few days before, shouting "No!" at him. Then she disappeared; and so did their conversations.

It was the last day of the holidays now, and Harry had been on a desperate search for Ron and Ginny. After all that had happened over the summer, it would be nice to see his friends again before they boarded the Hogwarts Express. After breakfast, he tapped the third brick from the left above the trash bin with his wand, and entered Diagon Alley. Harry looked through a few stores, and he was giving up hope when he discovered that Ron and Ginny were nowhere to be found in Flourish and Blotts.

"Can I talk to you?" a voice called out behind a bookshelf.

He turned around quickly and realized that the voice was Hermione's: it still had that rough quality to it that he had clearly remembered.

"How did you – "

"I followed you," Hermione admitted. "Right when the archway opened, after you tapped that brick, I rushed in behind you."

"Why?"

She moved closer to him and lowered her voice, as though it were vital that nobody else heard what she was going to say. "I want to talk to you, so can I?"

"Well, I'm here," Harry said swiftly, and he began scanning the books behind Hermione.

"Look, I'm not gonna tell you my life story, if that's what you want from me. I'd like to make that clear before continuing."

"I didn't say that I wanted to know – " Harry began.

Hermione cut him off with, "I'm sure you have your own secrets. Listen, I'm just letting you know that I'm not off my rocker or anything."

He chose not to respond immediately. Instead, he began walking away at such a pace that Hermione would know to tag along. Ignoring her last statement, Harry asked, "Why'd you ignore me for a few days?"

"I was busy thinking," Hermione said plainly, as though it was so clear that that was the reasonable answer. She appeared right at his side. "And it doesn't make sense to push away the one person here my age who will bother to talk to me."

She laughed at Harry's silence, but it was strange how it lacked humor. "Well, I don't seem like the most approachable person around, do I?" Harry bit his bottom lip and took in a quick glance of her appearance. She wasn't ugly – she was quite far from that, actually – but there were some cuts on the sides of her face that distracted one from noticing her natural features. Harry didn't know how he didn't realize this on their first trip to Diagon Alley, but while walking around in public, Hermione looked as though she was going to jinx anyone who looked at her the wrong way.

They made their way out of Flourish and Blotts and walked under the summer sun, the various colored robes adding to the brightness of the atmosphere. Harry put his hands in his pockets, and they walked casually down Diagon Alley.

"So, why didn't you come out here more often?" Hermione asked him after a minute of silence. "I mean, the weather's so nice."

"Fudge – the Minister of Magic – told me to not walk out of the Leaky Cauldron often. Wouldn't tell me why, though." He enjoyed talking to her on normal terms, when he she didn't cautiously avoid answering questions or call him Captain Curious or Speed Demon or whatever other nickname she was prepared to throw at him.

"If it's a matter of safety," she began, sounding serious now, "I don't see why he wouldn't want you around other wizards and witches."

Harry shrugged. "I just have to go with what they tell me, really. I'm only thirteen, I don't have much of a choice. Dumbledore, Fudge, they've always thought that I need extra security, and apparently that doesn't include me being near other wizards and witches."

"But isn't Voldemort gone now?" A few witches who had passed by shuddered and look at her as though she had petrified them. Harry nodded. When they passed, Hermione added, "Why do people act like that when I say Voldemort?" Another group of witches, smaller than the previous one, muttered something amongst themselves, glanced at Hermione, and hurried away.

"People are afraid of saying the name, like it's cursed or something," Harry explained. "You and Professor Dumbledore are the only people I know, besides me, who say the name out loud."

"Ha!" Hermione exclaimed, throwing her head back and letting bushy hair to sway behind her. "That's ridiculous."

Harry didn't say anything in reply – he would have felt bad agreeing when Ron and Ginny refused to say the name. A few moments later, he heard, "Harry?" It was the first time Hermione had referred to him by his real name.

"Yes?"

"Do you think we can go into Gringotts?" Hermione asked. "I want to exchange some pounds into wizarding money, since muggle currency is completely useless here."

Harry nodded. It towered over all the other shops, so she didn't need to be lead, but he made sure that she stayed by his side as they made their way to the intersection, where Gringotts stood. They walked up the white stairs, and Hermione gaped at the building in awe. "Wow..." Over a hundred goblins sat at desks, waiting for wizards and witches to request deposits, withdrawals, or secret meetings over private matters.

"Mr. Potter!" one of the goblins said as they got up from their desk, approached him and didn't shake his hand. It took Harry a few moments to realize that it was Griphook.

"Hello, Griphook."

"Who is this young lady?" the goblin asked.

Hermione looked startled for a few seconds before she was able to recompose herself. "This is Hermione Granger," Harry answered for her.

Griphook bowed to her and motioned for them to follow him to his desk. "What can I do for you today? Would you like to withdrawal some money from the Potter Vault?"

"Actually, Hermione wants to exchange some muggle money to wizarding money," Harry said, stepping aside so that she could extract a few pound notes.

"Ah, yes, of course. Would you like a vault as well?"

Hermione bit her lip and said, after a few moments of hesitation, "Er...I suppose."

"Alright," Griphook said plainly, moving a few parchments over to the side of his desk. "I'm assuming you're under seventeen, since I don't see any disguise, so you'll need a guardian's permission."

Harry cleared his throat and tried to think of how to form the problem into polite wording, but before he could say anything...

"I'm an orphan," Hermione said as though she were talking about the weather.

"And you have no guardian?"

"Well, not a legal one."

"Perhaps we can make them legal – " Griphook began to suggest.

"No!" Hermione said, louder than necessary. "I mean, no thank you. That's quite impossible."

Harry's stomach clenched uncomfortably; she and Neville were the only other orphans he knew, and Neville seemed somewhat upset at the mention of his parents. However, Hermione talked about it without flinching. It was also odd, he realized, that she had no legal guardian. Perhaps whoever she lived with never bothered with the paperwork, and they somehow slipped through the legal system when it came to enrolling her into a muggle school. _Yes, that must be it_, he thought to himself.

Griphook raised a thick eyebrow and looked back at his desk. "I see... Well, unfortunately, the rules strictly state that permission is required. Perhaps if you get some paperwork settled, and you get a legal guardian, a _different _one," he added after noticing her reaction, "then we can talk about getting a vault."

Hermione nodded. "Can we just exchange this money, then, and that's all for now?"

"Of course."

They walked into a room with slots for different forms of currency that Harry had never even heard of. Under the words "British Pounds", which was in gold lettering and on the wall to their right. Griphook retrieved a ladder after refusing Harry's offer to put the money into the slot himself. "This is a goblin's job, Mr. Potter."

Hermione looked nervous as her money disappeared in the slot. But within seconds, a few Galleons and Sickles exited the same slot, and Griphook caught them in his small hands before giving them to Hermione. She took them carefully and examined them with increasing interest. Her eyes didn't leave the appearance of the currency even when they left the exchanging room. After thanking Griphook, they walked out of Gringotts.

"That goblin...he mentioned not seeing a disguise," Hermione noted, finally pulling her gaze away from her money and boring it into the faces of people around them before swiftly putting the Galleons and Sickles in her pocket.

"Goblins can see through disguises. Wouldn't recommend trying to rob that bank," Harry told her, remembering what Hagrid had told him about Gringotts two years ago. Hermione furrowed her brows together and nodded slowly.

"I need to stop here," she said, turning her head towards Flourish and Blotts, which was a few feet away from them.

"Okay, I'll go with –"

"No, just stay here."

Not that taken aback anymore at actions like these Hermione performed, Harry stood outside the book store. He expected that he'd be waiting there for a while while she searched dozens of books. Much to his surprise, however, Hermione was back outside within two minutes, bookless.

Before Harry could ask why she wasn't carrying any books, she said, "And Magical Menagerie, then I'm done."

"For Crookshanks?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Hermione replied, not looking at him.

He waited outside again for about ten minutes this time. Hermione walked out with a small bag that read _Magical Menagerie_ in bright colors, with pictures of owls, cats, and toads surrounding the text.

They didn't say anything to each other as they made their way back to the Leaky Cauldron until a few minutes later, when they passed Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. Hermione looked confused as her eyes landed upon the large, rotating picture of ice cream in a cone on top of the parlor.

He looked at her with the same confusion she had used. "That's ice cream, Hermione."

She blinked quickly and turned to face him. "I know." Her voice was a bit too high-pitched. "I – I just didn't know wizards and witches – er – had it."

" Well, these flavors are a _bit_ bizarre..."

And so was irony, Harry realized, as one of two red-haired figures shouted, "Harry? Ron, look, it's Harry!"

"Over here, Harry!" Ron exclaimed, waving his hand as though Harry looking straight at him wasn't enough proof that he'd noticed him.

"Who are they?" Hermione asked skeptically, slowly following Harry, a few paces behind now.

"That's Ron and Ginny, the friends I've told you about," he replied with a broad smile.

This didn't seem to calm Hermione at all. She remained cautious as they approached the two Weasleys, who were very freckly. Ginny was now able to look Harry in the eye, although it still was common knowledge that she was attracted to him.

"How've you – who's this?"

"This is Hermione," Harry introduced her, smiling to let Ron and Ginny know that she should be welcomed.

"Hello, Hermione," Ginny said with a broad smile. She extended her hand, and Hermione uneasy as they shook hands. "I'm Ginny, and this is my brother, Ron."

"Hi," Ron said with not with nearly the same amount of enthusiasm Ginny had practiced.

No more questions were asked as Harry and Hermione took their seats across from Ron and Ginny. He thought about telling them more about Hermione, but something told him she wouldn't appreciate that. Instead, he drove the subject away from her. "So, how was Egypt?" Harry asked.

"Brilliant!" his best friend said happily, finally using some enthusiasm. "There were so many cool things to see, there was actually a lot of magic involved in Egyptian history."

"We got a little sunburned," Ginny said, pointing to her red nose. "But I think it'll turn into a good tan." She looked over at Hermione, who was very far from a tan, perhaps wondering if she thought the same thing, but Hermione was blankly staring at the table in front of them, her mind somewhere else.

"Yeah, when we're fifty."

"So Harry," Ginny continued and cleared her throat, "how was_ your _summer?"

"Oh, right!" Ron said pointedly. "Meant to ask you. Did you really blow up your aunt?"

Harry looked down in his lap for a few seconds before meeting their curious expressions. In the corner of his eye, he could see that Hermione had curved her lips into a small smile; perhaps the fact that she knew the answer to this before his best friends did amused her.

"Er...yeah."

Ron nearly fell out of his chair from laughing so hard, and even Ginny had her fair share of chuckles. "I can't – I can't believe you – you – haha! – didn't get expelled!"

"I actually thought I was going to get arrested."

"Well, you're famous and all," Ginny said proudly. "I wish I could blow up my aunt sometimes...."

"Shut up, Ginny, Aunt Muriel probably isn't as bad as Harry's Aunt Marge is." Ron turned to Harry. "Maybe Dad knows exactly why they didn't put you in jail. We're staying at the Leaky Cauldron tonight, also, actually."

"Are you staying at the Cauldron, too?" Ginny asked, and for a confused moment Harry thought she was talking to him. But by the look of the direction of her gaze, she was asking Hermione.

"Yeah." It was the first time she spoke in the presence of Ron and Ginny.

"Oh, that's good," the red-haired girl replied. She put a hand above her chest. "I've been around too many guys for too long."

"Tell me about it," Hermione said, shaking her head and curving up one side of her mouth as though she were remembering some secret inside joke – by the hardened look in her eyes, not a very funny one.

"You have brothers, too?"

"Oh...no. It's complicated."

Ginny smiled and nodded. Ron was staring at Hermione now, with the same mask of curiosity Harry was sure he himself had sported at the moment.

"So, Hermione, I haven't seen you around before," Ginny asked, still smiling.

"She's new to all this," Harry said before Hermione could speak. He was prepared for her to shoot him a look, but those brown eyes remained on him casually. He also could have sworn he heard her nearly inaudibly sigh in relief. "Hermione will in our third year class, Ron."

Ron nodded, but still didn't speak to her.

"Third year? How do you know the material?"

"The new Defense teacher taught her the basics, Ginny, and she's going to take extra classes to help her get caught up," Harry explained.

"Does our teacher look normal this year?" Ron asked Harry. "Knows what he's doing, no You-Know-Who hiding under a turban?"

Ginny laughed through her nose for a few seconds before looking back down. Harry nodded.

"I'm sorry?" Hermione asked, her voice high-pitched again. "What's that about Voldemort hiding under a turban?"

While the two Weasleys flinched at the name simultaneously, Harry said, "Two years ago, our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher basically had Voldemort – sorry, Ron – under his turban."

"Odd," was Hermione's short reply. She raised an eyebrow and opened her mouth to speak, but closed it seconds later. She hadn't been the one to ask many questions, after all.

-----

They arrived back at the Leaky Cauldron later that day. Ron looked at Hermione strangely while Ginny asked questions that were dodged. The rest of the Weasleys had mixed reactions to Hermione's presence.

"Hello, Harry!" Mr. Weasley had said brightly. He merely introduced himself casually to Hermione, but when she told him that she was muggleborn, the questions he asked were astronomical. Hermione answered the questions to the best of her ability – she claimed to have no lived in the ordinary muggle conditions – because after all, those questions weren't personal.

Fred and George were very nice to her, but perhaps they were mocking Percy by saying, "Hello, love, how are you today?", "Just brilliant to meet you", "I have to admit, you are looking rather dashing today". Hermione just nodded to them and kept a hardened look on her face while Harry, Ron, and Ginny laughed at anything funny the twins said or did.

Percy was very eager to let Hermione know everything about Hogwarts – he was, after all, Head Boy, and it was his duty to pass on his "great knowledge" to the underclassmen. While Hermione was curious about magic, she seemed annoyed by the way he stuck out his chest and reminded her of his reputation that he was so keen to uphold.

After crushing Harry in a hug, Mrs. Weasley made sure that Tom served Hermione twice as much food as everyone else, and she made concerned comments about her thinness. Hermione simply told her that she had a fast metabolism, and also that the red line on her neck was nothing to worry about.

"So, Hermione, where did you say you were from?" Mrs. Weasley asked at dinner, handing over another plate of the fifth course of the meal.

"London."

"Have you been in the Underground?" Mr. Weasley asked, his eyes wide with curiosity.

"Yes," she answered. "Well, not on the trains, just in the station."

"Fascinating." Hermione just nodded to this response, and then took a bite of her food, perhaps to avoid being asked more questions about that topic.

"I heard homeless people piss in the stations, is that true?" Fred asked.

"We are eating," Mrs. Weasley reminded him.

Hermione bit her lip and avoided his gaze. "Well – "

"Don't answer him, dear. Fred, no more inappropriate talk."

"But I'm just so _fascinated_ by muggles," Fred said, earning an appreciative nod from Mr. Weasley.

"And I'm fascinated by your need to – "

"Ginny, don't!"

"Sorry, mum."

The rest of their conversations were about more appropriate subjects for dinner, such as their plans to go to King's Cross the following morning, and Hermione's penciled in spot to be with them. She claimed to know exactly where King's Cross was, and that she could get their herself, but Mrs. Weasley wouldn't have any of it. Mr. Weasley claimed to not know why Fudge let Harry off, although it took a while for Harry to fully hear what he was saying, for the twins were in stitches for several minutes after hearing about the incident with Aunt Marge.

"What's with that girl?" Ron asked, even though they were supposed to be in bed by now. Mr.

and Mrs. Weasley weren't in the corridor to enforce the curfew, anyhow. Harry had seen them go into their room arguing about something a few minutes before.

"You mean Hermione?" Harry sat down on his bed and began stuffing his belongings into his school trunk.

"Yeah. She only bothered to look at me once, and blimey, if looks could kill...."

Harry shrugged as he stuffed a few pairs of socks in the side of the trunk.

"So what's her story? Why's she like that?" Ron continued.

"Dunno," he answered, looking around for some more clothes that might've fallen to the floor.

"Oh, so she's a stranger then, following you around and all? That's just plain weird."

"Look, she doesn't like to tell anyone much. And why are you so curious about her?" Harry didn't want to admit to himself how hypocritical that statement was.

The dark blanket of night was outside, and so Harry couldn't see Ron that well, but the widening of his eyes was clearly noticeable. "Why are you so friendly with her?" he challenged.

"You're my best friend, Ron, don't think she's suddenly going to replace you," Harry said, roughly shoving a few t-shirts next to the socks in the trunk. "Or Ginny," he added just to prevent Ron from beginning to defend his sister in this, too.

This seemed to satisfy Ron, because he didn't bring up the subject of Hermione again. And oddly enough, minutes later, when the two of them walked out of room eleven, Hermione herself was leaning against the wall right next to the door.

"Waiting for us?" Harry asked, half-grinning.

"No," she said sternly. This immediately diminished his small grin. "It just occurred to me that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are in their room, right next door, talking about something rather interesting."

"You're _eavesdropping_ on my _parents_?" Ron asked, pulling out his wand. Had the atmosphere not been so tense, Harry would have told Ron how brilliant it was that he finally got a new wand.

"Going to hex me, are you?" Hermione challenged in such a casual tone that she might as well have been asking him how he was doing. "Over me overhearing important information that Harry might want to know for his own safety?"

"What are you talking about?"

In one small, swift movement, Hermione raised her chin, then turned to Harry. "I need to speak to you," she said in a formal tone now, perhaps to prevent Ron from thinking he could intervene with whatever was needed to be spoken about.

"Like you care about his safety!" Ron shouted after her as she led Harry to the main room of the Cauldron. Harry suddenly felt bad that his talk with Ron before had apparently not made him appreciate Hermione any more. He also felt bad that they were already arguing.

"Sirius Black wants to kill you," Hermione said plainly as they sat on the couch she normally rested on over the past few weeks.

"I'm sorry?"

"He's after you. He was whispering in his sleep, 'He's at Hogwarts...he's at Hogwarts' in his Azkaban cell. Black lost everything when you defeated Voldemort, and now he wants to get revenge, and he also thinks that killing you with bring Voldemort back to power." Hermione looked at him thoughtfully, examining his reaction.

Harry swallowed roughly. What was she talking about? "You're lying."

"Why would I lie about something like this?" she asked.

"To amuse yourself?"

"Oh, please. If I want to amuse myself, I'll watch Percy chase down Fred and George once I've told him that his badge now says _Bighead Boy_," she said, waving his statement away. "Look, I just thought you should know that some maniac fugitive wants to murder you, so you can be on your guard." Hermione bit her lip and looked down into her lap. "If you don't believe me, well, I – I'm not going to waste my time trying to convince you." She looked hesitant as she stood up and walked back upstairs to the rooms.

Harry remained sitting down, barely hearing Ron and Ginny argue about something in the distance. Maybe Hermione was telling the truth. It would make sense, Harry realized with a surprising lack of fear. Fudge didn't punish him because he was glad Harry was even alive after running away from the Dursleys, and he recommended that he didn't go wandering in Diagon Alley in case Black might there, waiting to kidnap Harry without arousing suspicion at first – after all, if the fugitive was so sly to break out of a wizarding prison, he could easily kidnap someone. Two Ministry cars were bringing them to King's Cross tomorrow for security. Harry returned to his room, not feeling afraid that a mass murderer was going to kill him, but surprised that Hermione would even bother to warn him.

-----

They made their way to King's Cross the following day in the two dark green Ministry cars. Hermione didn't seem scared that she had to run into a wall – in fact, she was willingly the first person to enter Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Hermione was staring at the Hogwarts Express with the usual amazement she experienced while witnessing something new about the wizarding world. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Fred, George, and Percy said good-bye to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, all receiving hugs and kisses from Mrs. Weasley (Hermione was even rushed over to by Mrs. Weasley, who gave her a quick hug and told her to get some meat on those bones), and last minute reminders from Mr. Weasley.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley said as the rest of the students began boarding the Express, "I want you to be very, _very_ careful at school. I can't go into much detail, but it's important that you stay out of trouble."

He nodded. "I will."

"Harry!" Ginny shouted after him, "The train's about to take off!"

"I really will, Mr. Weasley, I promise," Harry reassured him as dashed into the compartment door that Ron had kept open for him. The train began to leave seconds later. Ginny was standing behind Ron, and much to Harry's surprise, Hermione was not with them.

"Ginny, over here!" someone called out as they searched the train for an empty compartment. A group of girls, who began giggling once they noticed Harry's presence, rushed over to Ginny. "We have a compartment, we've saved room for you."

"Harry can join us if he'd like," one of the girls added.

Before Harry could reject the offer, Ginny waved back to the boys and followed her second year friends. It took Harry and Ron fifteen minutes to find an empty compartment: it was the very last one at the back end of the train.

"Listen, Ron, I've got to tell you something – "

Harry was interrupted by the compartment door opening, revealing a confused Hermione holding a sleeping Crookshanks. "I was almost sorted into Ravenclaw, which house is that?" she asked as she sat down next to Harry near the window.

"Hello to you too," Ron said bitterly. He must've still been angry at her for eavesdropping on his parents.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Ravenclaw," she repeated slowly, quickly glancing out the window. "I remember reading about the Houses, but which description goes with which House has escaped me."

"That's the...smart house, I guess. Wait, what are you talking about? Doesn't the Sorting Hat wait at Hogwarts?"

Hermione sighed. "I told Madam Malkin that an Auror was going to bring the Sorting Hat onto the train, I thought you were paying close attention." He could've sworn her mutter "Captain Curious" under her breath, but chose to ignore it. "Anyways," she continued, "they always do that, every year, for new students too old to be in the first year. Of course they bring the Hat back for the first years... I went into one of the staff compartments at first to be Sorted. It's quite strange, it talked to me, like it was thinking aloud. Thought I should be in Ravenclaw, but then...but then it just decided to put me in Gryffindor instead."

Ron raised his eyebrows and coughed, while Harry said, "Great". So they were in the same House. Maybe now he would have time to figure out more about her.

"So Harry, what were gonna tell me before we were interrupted?" Ron asked with a sidewards glance at Hermione.

Harry paused; he didn't want Hermione to know that he believed her claim that Sirius Black wanted to murder him. She would probably proudly say "I told you so" and walk out of the compartment with her head held high.

"Er, it was nothing," he lied. "I'll tell you later."

"What's that noise?" Hermione asked, looking around. A faint whizzing sound echoed in the compartment, and after standing up and searching the compartment, she extracted Harry's trunk from the luggage rack. Remaining silent, Hermione took out a Pocket Sneakoscope, which twirled in her small palm. "Is this a Sneakoscope? I saw one at the in the window of Flourish and Blotts...no idea why something like that would be sitting in a bookstore...perhaps they were selling books about them.... It's kind of annoying," she finished quickly, putting a Silencing charm on it before putting the Sneakoscope back in the trunk and her hand in her pocket.

Moments later, they heard another noise: cold laughter in the corridor. Ron glanced at Harry, who smacked his hand against his forehead. Hermione sat back down and expectantly stared at the door, which opened slowly.

"Potty and the Weasel." Crabbe and Goyle snickered as Draco Malfoy closed the compartment door and leaned against it. "Where's your sister?" Malfoy asked, turning to Ron. He began to say something, probably some sort of insult that would result in Ron quickly getting to his feet, but stopped when he realized Hermione's presence.

"New friend?" he asked with a menacing look on his face. "Oh, look, she's even equipped with Muggle clothes." Malfoy quickly looked at Crabbe and Goyle, who chuckled. "Got a Mudblood to join the crew, Potter?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry said, clenching his fists tightly.

Much to everyone's surprise, Hermione stood up. "I'm sorry?" she said in a high-pitched voice, raising one eyebrow.

"Oh-ho!" Malfoy exclaimed. "She doesn't even know what it _means_!"

"No, actually, unlike those idiotic monkeys stalking you, I've got a brain. I know exactly what it means," she said roughly as she put her hands on her hips. "I was just questioning why you would come in here, call me a Mudblood, and think that because I'm a girl that I'll _cry_ over it or something."

Malfoy gawked at her reaction for a moment before curling his lips into a mocking smile. "I would never make a girl cry, that's just cruel." He laughed. "Not intentionally, anyways. Why?" Malfoy walked closer to her and Harry was prepared to stand up the moment he got too close. "_Are_ you gonna cry? Gonna let your dearest Muggle parents know that a boy called you a Mudblood?"

Hermione froze for a second, and if Harry had blinked, he would have missed it – and Malfoy definitely did not blink. "Did I hit a nerve? Wait, you don't have parents, do you? Oh, this is priceless!" Crabbe and Goyle laughed behind him. "Now there are _two_ orphans! I wonder if your parents died as pathetically as Scarhead's – "

_Whack!_

Malfoy's head slammed into the compartment door so hard that it was unbelievable that he didn't go right through it, his nose bleeding, and moaned in pain. Hermione stood inches away from him, her fist waving in the air. She gripped a patch of blond hair in the back of his head and collided it with the door again. "You can call me Hermione instead from now on," she said in such an intimidating tone that Harry – who had stood up to get a better view of the result of Malfoy being punched in the face – stepped back.

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione kicked him in the last place he'd want to be kicked, and he curled to the floor. Crabbe and Goyle raised their own fists and looked at Hermione, but she muttered something that sounded like "Do _not_ even _dare_".

Then she looked down at Malfoy and kicked him hard in the shin, and he was now in tears from the pain. "Oh, look who ended up crying." Draco tried to talk once more, but she reacted by kicking the other shin. "You mention mine or Harry's parents again, I will make sure that you're not going to be able to speak again."

It was hard to believe that the girl who stood over Malfoy was Hermione. She did give Harry challenging looks, and she did keep a hardened expression on her face at times, but he never expected that she would defend herself like this. After Malfoy finally managed to somewhat stand up and limp out of the compartment, claiming that he'd tell Professor Snape about this, Hermione inhaled deeply, sat back down, and stared out the window.

Perhaps it was because Hermione also defended Harry in a way, or because she simply kicked Malfoy's arse, or because she was so interesting in the first place, or because he was just Harry to her, he felt a friendship begin to form.

* * *

**Author's Note:** OpenOffice is telling me that I spelled arse wrong.


	6. Dementors

**Author's Note:** I hit a writer's block in the middle of the week and had barely any time to write this chapter, so this should be interesting.

* * *

How to Love

_Chapter Six: Dementors_

"He's gonna tell Snape," Ron said absently, five minutes after Malfoy limped out of their compartment.

Hermione, who had remained still near the now foggy window, finally turned to face them. "Who's Snape?"

"You don't want to know," Harry told her.

But apparently, she did. "No, really, who's Snape?"

"A hook-nosed git who teaches Potions."

"He hates Gryffindors."

"Especially Harry."

"He's the head of the Slytherin house."

"And Malfoy is his pet."

Hermione raised an eyebrow and ran her right hand through her brown hair. "So, the blonde kid is going to tell Snape what I did?"

Harry said, "And Snape won't react kindly," as Ron nodded. "I'm afraid you can't beat _him_ up."

Hermione shrugged, crossed her legs, and leaned against the wall behind her. "I have my ways of retaliating," she said, not making eye contact with either of them.

"But you'll lose House points from Gryffindor..." Ron protested. Hermione looked at Harry to explain what House points were, but before he could speak, Ron continued. "Snape will take away points if you even look at him the wrong way."

"Whatever House points are – "

"They're like scores for the Houses."

" – I really don't care if I lose some of them. I'm here to learn, not to be a good girl and get awarded points." She laughed without humor.

Ron looked at Harry with a raised eyebrow before turning to Hermione. "Well...it's nice that you beat up Malfoy, but if I'm just saying that the other Gryffindors will get pretty mad at you if you lose tons of points."

"Okay, _mum_," Hermione replied harshly, then she muttered something about not caring what the other Gryffindors thought.

"Don't," Harry whispered to Ron, who looked like he was prepared to stand up.

Hermione returned to gazing at the window, which nobody could clearly see through because of the eerie fog that had formed, for the next half hour.

"Where's the bloody food cart? I'm starving," Ron complained, breaking the silence.

"You're starving _already_?"

"At the front by the driver," Hermione mumbled. "That lady said that the last time she was here, at one."

Ron didn't look at her as he stood up, told Harry he'd be right back, and departed.

"He's always hungry," Harry said lightly, hoping Hermione would bother to even look at him now. And, much to his surprise, she did.

"He's always a git," she replied. After seeing Harry's reaction to this, she added, "Well, no offense, but he's really getting on my nerves."

"Ron gets on my nerves, too, sometimes," Harry said with a sigh. "But he's my friend, and you'll have to respect that." He paused. "Unless you don't want to hang out with me, anymore, of course."

Hermione didn't reply to what he said, but went off on her own topic. "Does that kid Malfoy always pick on you like that?"

Not wanting to admit this, Harry simply said, "Usually teachers are around, and he's not stupid."

"Actually he is," Hermione said, laughing with humor this time. "Messing with me? Please..."

"Why'd you beat him up?" he asked. "I mean, I don't mind you beating some sense into him, but using physical violence rather than magic is just odd for a witch."

"Physical violence is harder to prove," she said with a smirk. "And besides, I'm muggleborn, it's just what I'm used to."

"So you're used to beating people up?" Harry asked quizzically, wondering if he could possibly extract some more truth about her.

Hermione shrugged. "It's good to know how to defend yourself." Harry sensed something off in her tone...she sounded too stern for a thirteen-year-old. She looked out the window for a few seconds before shifting her gaze to the floor.

Before Harry could ask her anything more about this, the train began to slow down, and he chose to ask something else instead: "Are we there already?"

She looked out the window and wiped off the fog, whose quantity started to rapidly increase. "No, the sun's only at around two o'clock."

Normally, Harry would have asked her how she knew the time just by looking at the sun, but he was now more concerned about the train reaching a full stop and the decreasing temperature of the compartment. He rushed to the door and saw that many other students were at their compartment doors, wearing masks of curiosity and worry. Many people were grabbing any spare clothing around them and wrapping it around their shivering bodies. A few screams erupted throughout the train when all the lamps suddenly went out. Harry locked the door and turned around just in time to see Hermione standing right behind him.

"What's going on?" she asked, her voice sounding extremely casual for the given situation.

"Dunno..." Harry said as he tried to look through the glass of the locked compartment door. "Maybe people are boarding the train?"

"And they turned off the lights to make sure the newcomers could find nice seats? No, something's not right...."

"Where's Ron?"

Hermione didn't reply, but instead moved to his side to try to see at least something through the darkness. There was even fog forming on the glass of the door, which they both had to wipe off every few seconds to even see outlines of figures, especially one figure in particular that had managed to unlock the door.

Harry immediately pushed Hermione to the back of the compartment, receiving a gasped, "I'm fine!" as the figure made its way into the compartment with them. The cold temperature would've broken any thermometer ever invented, Harry thought as cold sweat collected on his brow.

The figure was cloaked and looked as through it had been dragged through the most terrible terrain, then drenched in freezing cold water, decaying the entire time. Harry had an uneasy feeling in his stomach – or perhaps it was his heart, he wasn't sure because the cold was so possessive – as the hooded figure extracted a hand from its ragged cloak and reached it out towards Harry before pulling it back again seconds later. Harry and Hermione were both still, although he heard her suck in a deep breath as the figure, too, sucked in its own breath – although the figure seemed to have a more vacuuming effect, almost as though it were to take out all the air and suffocate them. Harry forgot how to move, how to think, how to do anything, because the cold reached his bones, which had even stopped shivering because every molecule in his body was frozen....

And then there was a loud scream, at first he thought it was Hermione, but it was the scream of someone older, a woman, and he wondered where she was and how he could help her, but he couldn't move at all...

"Wake up, for Christ's sake!"

He felt what seemed like a wet towel dab at his face, and Harry found the sensation so relieving that he almost didn't want to open his eyes, but the harshness of the voice that had just yelled at him to wake up was practically threatening that the owner of the voice was to slap him if he didn't show signs of consciousness. When he finally opened his eyes, he saw that the voice belonged to Hermione, whose right arm was awkwardly twisted behind her; but she brought the arm right back within seconds to pull him up into a seated position. Then she thrusted a piece of what looked like chocolate into his hand and ordered, "Eat it."

The train was moving, and the lamps had been lit up once again, and Harry wondered where the wet towel had gone, because he felt the awfulness of the cold sweat still on his face, but perhaps his mind had conjured an imagination to relax him.

"What?"

"Professor Lupin went to talk to the driver, and he told me to force you to eat this chocolate, that it'll help you feel better," Hermione said impatiently. "He saved you, by the way. He shot some kind of light thing at that...that thing, and it went off. You looked like you were having a seizure, it was really – "

Harry cut her off with, "Who was screaming?"

Hermione's brown eyes widened so much that he thought they were going to pop out of her head. "I thought it was just me imagining something.... You – you heard someone too?"

"Harry, are you okay?" Professor Lupin's voice asked as Lupin himself opened the glass door and entered the compartment. "And why aren't you eating that chocolate? Hermione, I thought – "

"He probably thinks I poisoned it, Professor," Hermione said, slumping her back against the wall and finding her fingernails very interesting all of the sudden. Harry continued keeping his eyes on her, hoping that this would make her turn to face him and explain what she had heard.

"Eat the chocolate, you'll feel better," Lupin ordered as he sat down across from Harry.

He was right. The warmth of the chocolate was better than the wet towel – imaginary or not. "You were right, I feel loads better."

Harry thought he saw, out of the corner of a bright green eye, Hermione smirk.

"Er, Professor?"

"Yes?"

"What was that thing?"

"A dementor," Lupin began to explain. "They're Azkaban guards. Hermione, you could use some chocolate, too," he added as he handed a piece of chocolate to her. And now that he was paying attention to her, Harry saw that she really could use some chocolate. The dark circles under her eyes were more pronounced than ever and there was a gleam of cold sweat on her forehead. "You two reacted the worst to the dementors...all the other students seemed fine, except for the first years, but Professor McGonagall's got them rounded up – "

"We reacted the worst? Nobody – nobody else – "

"Nobody else fell off their chairs, no."

This didn't help.

"Professor, I – " Harry was about to say "we" instead, but Hermione gave him a look that suggested he shouldn't do that, " – I heard a woman screaming."

"Did you?" Professor Lupin asked Harry, his dark eyes widening.

He shrugged awkwardly. "Well, I mean, it's...it's nothing," he said, feeling ashamed all of the sudden.

"Harry, dementors bring out the worst of our memories," the professor said softly. "Perhaps...." But he stopped talking, leaving Harry to his thoughts.

Harry wondered what Lupin meant by this – after all, he hadn't remembered any particular moment in his life when a woman was screaming that was so haunting to him. Perhaps when Aunt Petunia was screaming at Harry for not cleaning out the dishes, and her voice yelled at the top of her lungs in obsessed rage.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably near the window and took another bite of chocolate.

"What happened?"

Ron walked into the compartment, wide-eyed and equipped with a very small box of candy. "I was just about to buy some candy and then the lamps went out, and everyone was going mental – "

"One of the Azkaban guards got onto the train," Lupin said. "Who are you?"

"Oh, I'm Ron Weasley," Ron introduced himself as he sat down beside Harry. "One of Harry's friends."

Lupin nodded, smiled, and said, "I'm Professor Lupin."

"Azkaban guards?"

"They'll be guarding the school entrances, too," the professor said solemnly.

"Harry, Dad went to Azkaban once, and said that the guards – What happened to _you_?"

Harry shook his head, embarrassed. "Nothing." After receiving a worried look from Ron, he quickly added, "I'll explain later. I'm fine."

"You won't be fine if you don't eat that chocolate," Lupin said with a small smirk, and considering how anxious Ron was to ask Harry what had happened, it was a good idea to be too occupied with eating chocolate for the time being.

Finally, the train stopped at Hogsmeade station. Rain poured onto their robes, hair, and pets as the students boarded stagecoaches.

When Harry, Ron, and Hermione (who had remained a few paces behind them as the two talked about Quidditch) were about to enter one of the coaches, Hermione asked "What are those?" Harry turned to face her and saw that she was pointing at the empty space in front of their coach.

"What?" Harry asked, raising on eyebrow.

"It looks like a horse, but a little more morbid than one, don't you think?" she continued.

"What are you talking about?"

"That horse! Right there!" Hermione said pointedly, waving her hand frantically in front of the space. A few students that passed eyed her strangely before continuing up the path.

"There's nothing there, Hermione," Ron said, sounding annoyed as he disappeared into the coach.

"You don't see it?" Hermione asked in a high-pitched voice. "How can you not see it?"

Harry shrugged, knowing there were really no more questions he could ask at the moment other than _are you mad?_, and followed Ron. Hermione joined them in the coach moments later with a confused look on her face. She stayed silent and looked out the tiny window as Harry and Ron continued talking.

After departing the coach once the carriages stopped moving and they made their way to the front entrance, they passed Malfoy, who was sporting a black eye but looked like he was trying to seem tough about it, as though he had gotten the injury from battle. "The people on the compartment opposite you saw you _faint_, Potter. Did you really faint? Did you?"

"I'll gladly make your other eye match the bruised one you've got," Hermione said viciously, stepping towards him. Her once confused expression was now one of anger.

"Oh? Defending your friend now, Mudblood?"

"I'm not defending anyone," she said quickly. "I'm just using the perfect opportunity to smack some sense into you once again. Perhaps your brains will come out this time." Hermione then raised her fist at him.

"You won't get the chance to even lay a finger on me!" Malfoy shouted, getting the attention from passing students. "I'm telling Professor Snape about what you did, and you'll be lucky if you don't get expelled." He crossed his arms over his chest mockingly.

"Good luck with that," Hermione said casually as her, Harry, and Ron walked past him and up the stairs to the front doors of the castle. Before he could make any comments about what had just occurred, he felt his stomach twist nervously at the sight of the dementors on either end of the entrance, and felt a wave of relief when the doors opened for them.

"Miss Granger, over here!" a familiar, stern voice called out. Professor McGonagall, wearing emerald robes and hair in a tight bun, walked over to them. "I need to speak to you in my office about your schedule," she explained, landing a palm on Hermione's elbow and guiding her away from Harry and Ron. "Potter, I'll speak to _you_ later."

"What do you think she needs to tell her?" Ron asked as they walked into the Great Hall, which was lit up and contrasted with the darkened foggy enchanted sky above them.

"No idea."

* * *

**Author's Note:** It's probably alarmingly obvious that I didn't proof read this. And happy early cinco de mayo to any Mexican readers out there :) Feliz cinco de mayo a mis lectores mexicanos :) Aye, mi papá es boricuo, pero...mi español es espantoso. Haha.


	7. Anthony

**Author's Note:** This chapter jumps around like a five year old that had too much sugar because I didn't want to bore you with the details of PoA that yous know already. I changed the schedule of their first day a little bit, too, so make that a very confused and forgetful five year old that had too much sugar.

* * *

How to Love

_Chapter Seven: Anthony_

New students older than eleven at Hogwarts were rare. Harry had thought that it was common when Hermione said they _always_ bring the Sorting Hat onto the train for new students above first year – but he was misguided to the extreme. Wizarding families apparently rarely moved to areas that would require the children the attend a completely different school. Many people stared at Hermione when she returned to the Great Hall a few minutes late and took a seat at the Gryffindor table several seats away from Harry and Ron. She seemed content with being alone, and bloody amazing with dealing with strange looks she received.

The Sorting Hat had been returned, just as was promised, and was now sorting the first years into their respectable houses. Ron turned to Harry.

"What did you want to tell me on the train before we were – " he looked over Harry's shoulder at what must've been Hermione, " – interrupted?"

The shifting in his seat was followed by a check for any eavesdroppers, and luckily Lavender Brown was a good distance away from them.

"Hey guys!" Harry had expected it to be Hermione at first, but the voice was too high-pitched and cheery. Ginny. She took a seat on the opposite side of the table. "Sorry, I was caught up with.... Well, it doesn't matter. I heard about that dementor, Harry!" she said in a concerned sort of tone. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he muttered back. When Ron imitated Ginny's expression, he repeated, "I'm fine. Look, there's something more important I have to say, anyways." After making one last check for eavesdroppers, Harry continued. "I think...I think Sirius Black is after me."

Ron's eyebrows nearly went into his hair. "What the bloody hell are you talking about? Why would he want to go after _you_?"

"Think about it," Harry said, remembering what Hermione had told him. "He lost everything when I defeated Voldemort. Killing me would bring Voldemort back to power. And he really wouldn't mind getting revenge on me."

Ginny shook her head. "Well, he...he can't kill you. I mean, we're at _Hogwarts_! And you're – you're Harry Potter!"

"If he could break out of Azkaban, he can break into Hogwarts," Ron said shakily. "I think you're right, Harry..."

Before Ginny could protest again, Dumbledore stood up and silence blanketed the Hall. He clapped his hands together and cleared his throat. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! Our beginning was a little shaky, but I assure you that after their quick sweep of the Express that the new guards from Azkaban will remain at the entrances to the grounds. They are here on Ministry of Magic business and cannot be tricked by any disguises, even Invisibility Cloaks, so I ask that you all stay in the school and do not leave without permission. And do not give the dementors reason to harm you...they are not the most forgiving of creatures."

A few students looked down into their laps or at others to see alternating reactions as Dumbledore scanned the room. "With that said, I'd like to welcome new members of staff. Professor Lupin will be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." Dumbledore gestured to the scruffy young man who waved weakly at the students.

Harry and Hermione were perhaps the only students who clapped hard. Snape glared at her – Hermione, a few seats away from Harry, didn't seem to notice – and Harry had a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach that worsened with deepening intensity when Snape's glare shifted to Lupin. It was an extremely familiar look of absolute loathing.

"And our new Care of Magical Creatures professor is Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to teach this wonderful subject along with keep his duties as gamekeeper."

The applause was better than Lupin's, especially in the Gryffindor table.

"Well, I'm starving," Dumbledore said as the clapping died down. "Let the feast begin!"

Plates and goblets on the tables were suddenly filled with food and drinks, and Harry and Ron immediately reached for anything and ate it while Ginny daintily ate an apple. As he turned to pick up his goblet, Harry saw Hermione, who was staring down at the untouched food in front of her with a look of shock; she contrasted deeply with the students around her, who looked hungry enough to take her food from her. Then she covered her mouth, which Harry had seen form an _O_ just seconds before. Even the first years didn't look as surprised. Confused yet keeping his thoughts to himself, he continued eating, glad to be home.

- - - - -

Harry and Ron got their course schedules that morning.

"Divination first," Ron read. "Do we even know where that is?"

"North Tower," a voice told them as its owner sat across from Harry.

"Decided to join us?" Ron asked, annoyed already.

"Good morning," Hermione said nonchalantly, not making eye contact with any of them. She looked reasonably better than she had at dinner, mainly because a dementor hadn't introduced himself to her. "My schedule, please."

George handed her a piece of paper and said, "I heard you beat of Malfoy. Well done, my lovely." Fred gave her a thumbs-up.

"Percy's not even here so there's no need to make fun of him," she told them, keeping her nonchalant tone.

"My God, she even defends Percy," Ron whispered.

"I heard that, and if I hear something like that again, you'll regret it."

"So you have Divination first, too?" Harry asked, reaching over and extracting her schedule from her thin hands.

"Hey!" she protested as he read it.

"This doesn't make sense...." It really didn't. At nine o'clock, she was supposed to attend Divination as well as tutored Charms. And right after lunch, she was to go to Care of Magical Creatures _and_ tutored Transfiguration. "You can't go to all these classes at once."

"I know," she said sharply as she took back the paper; her use of force nearly ripped her schedule in half. "I've talked to Professor McGonagall about it." Before Harry could ask anything else, she continued by asking, "So, North Tower?"

A few minutes later, they found themselves making their way to the North Tower. "Mate, we should turn back, she's leading us to our deaths," Ron wondered aloud.

"How do you know where we're going?"

"Well, the North Tower is obviously North," Hermione said, ignoring Ron. A few steps later, they passed a window. "That's east," she began, pointing at the sun's rays that filtered through the window. Then her arm whipped across her to point in the opposite direction, "and that's west. So North is this way." They continued up a few flights of stairs in the Northern direction. "It's common sense, really. Just follow the sun."

"Speaking of which, how did you that it was two o'clock yesterday just by looking at the sun?" Harry asked her as they walked down a long corridor.

"The sun is at certain heights for certain times of the day," she said impatiently. They made a right turn at the end of the corridor. "I just know what height corresponds with which hour."

"But why not just use a watch?"

Hermione rolled up her left sleeve, revealing a bare forearm. "Since I don't have a watch, I'm just using my resources." She quickly pulled the sleeve back down, but Harry spotted a long jagged cut on the side of her arm. It looked like someone had scratched her.

"What's th – "

"Crookshanks," she said shortly, although the cut was too thick for Crookshanks's doing. "Here we are."

Hermione was the first to walk up a set of stairs that had descended from the ceiling and was feared by the rest of the students at first.

"It's just a set of stairs, I don't see the problem – " Hermione began, but she paused when they caught the sight of the classroom – if one could even call it that.

The amount of perfume and shawls in the room was alarming. Curtains were closed shut, and the room was very dim. "Welcome, my students." Professor Trelawney was as thin as Hermione, and her eyes were magnified to several times their natural size. She wore so many bangles that Harry wondered how damaged the circulation to hands was, and she was covered in shawls. "Sit, sit."

Harry and Ron reluctantly sat at a circular table while Hermione walked past them and took a seat, alone, at the table next to theirs. Nobody seemed to be paying attention as Professor Trelawney talked about something called the Inner Eye, and then said something about pages five and six of a book. Ron looked at what Lavender Brown was doing and copied, whispering instructions to Harry.

"Oh, my..." Professor Trelawney's voice was now too close to not pay attention to. "You have a dark future, just like your dark past...." Harry turned to see that she was talking to Hermione, who was raising one eyebrow and crossing her arms across her chest.

"How would you know about my past?" Hermione asked, keeping her eyebrow arched. "I thought you were supposed to just see the future."

"I'm afraid the future depends on what we have done in the past," the professor replied in a misty tone. "And so I'm judging that by your future, my dear, that your past hasn't been the steadiest... Have you talked to the Headmaster about this?"

The other students were now interested in this exchange, and they abandoned their own guesses about the future to keep their focus on how Hermione was to react. People were already beginning to whisper amongst themselves, too.

"'This' meaning keeping students' privacy? No, not yet," Hermione said roughly, tearing her gaze away from the professor and looking down at the circular table in front of her.

Professor Trelawney inhaled deeply and strolled over to Harry and Ron's table, her eyes wider than ever. "Have you observed anything yet?" she asked them, grabbing the cup Harry was holding. "Falons and skulls...oh dear...you have an enemy."

"Voldemort, obviously," Hermione snickered. The only proof that Professor Trelawney heard what Hermione had said was a quick flinch at the word _Voldemort_.

"You are in grave danger, I'm afraid," the professor continued, her hands shaking. She then put the cup back onto the small table with such force that it was a miracle it didn't break into a million pieces.

"You have the Grim!" she cried.

- - - - -

In even worse moods, Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked to Defense Against the Dark Arts. He only barely smiled when the door of the classroom opened by itself. They all walked into the room and took their seats.

"Good morning," Professor Lupin said happily, emerging from behind a large blackboard that read '_Defense Against the Dark Arts_'. He was still as shabby as Harry had remembered, perhaps even shabbier now. "I'd like you to put your books back in your bags, we're going to have a practical lesson today."

The air around them was suddenly filled with excitement: Harry didn't feel as horrible now about the fact that Professor Trelawney had seen the Grim. They hadn't had a successful practical lesson in this class before, and very curious looks were exchanged.

"We're taking a little journey to the staffroom," he explained as he led them out of the classroom. "Inside, please."

When they all filed inside the room, the existence of something moving around in the wardrobe alarmed everyone. "Oh, that's just a boggart," Lupin said casually. He then looked up at the class and asked, "Who knows what it is?"

"A shape-shifter," Hermione called out without raising her hand. "It – it takes on the shape of what frightens us most." The swallowed roughly and kept her eyes focused on Lupin.

"Excellent," he said with a smile. "Now, the charm we'll need to repel the boggart is _riddikulus_. Hermione, since I told you about this spell over the summer, would you mind going first as a demonstration?"

A few students eyed her oddly, wondering where this sudden attention came from. Hermione, who was standing on Harry's left, bit her lip. "Er, professor, I'm not sure if that's the best idea." There was a look in her eye that Harry couldn't decipher exactly, but nonetheless, it worried him.

Lupin's smile nearly faded by this point as though he knew what that look meant, but he shook his head. "I think you can handle it."

Then he turned to the class. "The main goal here is to think of something funny, or at least happy, while facing what scares you most. Just saying the spell by itself won't work. So, Hermione, if a boggart is a person, think of a funny outfit, or if it's an animal, replace its feet with roller blades...those are just a few examples."

Hermione nodded and gripped her wand tightly, her brown eyes staying so focused on the shaking wardrobe that Harry was expecting a hole to be bored into the wood. Lupin told the others to stand back so that the boggart wouldn't get confused, and they obeyed. Harry made sure to stay a little too close to see what could possibly scare the girl with the hardened look on her face.

The wardrobe shook harder than ever, and then a figure emerged from it. At first Harry thought it was a dementor from the shadows covering it and the height it stood at, but a few seconds later, he realized it was a person.

His face was covered in dirt and injuries. His build was very bulky, and he had a look in his eyes that made some of the girls in the class take a few steps back. The rags that covered him were torn and aged, and his hair was even messier than Harry's. He looked about Harry's age, although the debris over his face made that hard to determine correctly. Once the boggart spotted Hermione, he began walking towards her with rage written all over his rough features. Harry felt himself move back when he saw that the boggart had a red line around his neck that almost matched Hermione's, except that his was more pronounced and blood was dripping from it.

Hermione held her wand in the air, cleared her throat, and muttered, "_Riddikulus!_"

The boggart remained the same, and Lupin instructed, "Say it louder."

Harry had been so used to her acing spells on the first try in the Leaky Cauldron that her incapability to master this one was odd. Then again, this was different. This boggart wasn't a typical mummy or spider or snake – it was someone feared on a whole new emotional level. Hermione's eyes were wide with what he could only assume was fear. She took a step back and inhaled deeply, and Harry felt practically helpless when he noticed that she was shaking.

"_Riddikulus!_ " she cried. The boggart was now dressed in a pink dress, and he wore huge sunglasses and a pair of high heels.

The class laughed faintly – the image of the boggart before he was dressed in feminine clothing was still imprinted in their minds. Hermione went to the back of the classroom, still shaking. Harry followed her as Neville was beckoned to the front of the crowd by Professor Lupin.

"Who was that?"

Hermione looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. She shook her head as though disagreeing with her own thoughts, and finally, she shrugged her shoulders and sighed.

"That was Anthony."

* * *

**Author's Note:** The title of the chapter didn't give that away in the first place or anything.


	8. Money and Memories

**Author's Note:** I know it's a day after the weekend, so this is technically late, but you have no idea how busy my weekend was. I now feel even worse because this chapter is short and crappy and I didn't proofread it. But read it anyways because Snape is sorta in this chapter. And because I love you. Yes, you, the common reader. And I probably just scared off everyone.

* * *

How to Love

_Chapter Eight:_ _Money and Memories_

"Come on, you can't just tell me that was Anthony and not say anything else," Harry told Hermione at lunch.

She took a bite of her sandwich and looked over at a group of girls from their Defense class who were whispering and shooting scared looks at her. Then she turned to him and said, "Well, I figured that I'd answer the most obvious question to get that out of the way, but I certainly wasn't prepared for those obsessive follow-up questions."

Harry decided it was best to ignore these sort of statements that she declared; they were too common to fight. Instead, he swirled his spoon in continuous circles within his soup as he spoke as though he hadn't heard her reply. "The line around his neck matches yours."

Hermione had returned back to normal, or at least as normal as she could act around Harry, by the time they sat down at the Gryffindor table for lunch. Hermione agreed to sit with him because Ginny was with other friends and Ron was looking for Scabbers. The image of her shaking in fear from the boggart was still burning in his mind, and he was eager to find some answers.

"What a coincidence," Hermione snapped, placing her food back on her plate.

"Did he give you that line?"

"It's a scar, not just a stupid line. St. Mungo's can remove it, I should ask Professor Dumbledore how I can schedule an appointment..."

"What's it from exactly? What material?"

Hermione looked at the staff table, scanned the presence of all the teachers, and turned her gaze back to him. When she didn't say anything for half a minute, Harry continued, "Looks like a rope gave you that scar."

"You don't know anything about scars," she said quickly.

Harry pointed to his forehead and smirked.

"That's different," Hermione argued, not smirking back and keeping a serious expression upon her features. "An evil man gave you _that_ scar – "

"And whoever gave you yours wasn't bad at all?"

Hermione reached for her sandwich and took another bite, refusing to meet his eyes. "He really wasn't."

Harry consumed a spoonful of soup, deep in thought. Someone had given her that line around her neck, and – given her denial – had used rope to create the scar. But that person wasn't evil?

After swallowing, Hermione added, "So stop thinking some evil psycho was after me."

"You're covering for whoever did it," he said softly, making sure nobody around them heard. Then, thinking some more, he continued by asking, "But why were you so scared of him? I mean, I know he looked kind of scary, but you were _terrified_ – "

"I should've also added that you should stop thinking you can just assume stuff about me when you don't know the whole story. Even so, you're not the police, I don't have to cover for anyone."

"So why don't you _tell_ me the whole story?" Harry asked curiously as Ron walked into the Great Hall, carrying Scabbers and wearing an angry expression.

Ignoring Harry, she said, "No wonder the table was quieter than usual."

"You need to put your beastly cat in a cage," Ron said as he took a seat next to Harry and opposite Hermione.

"It's half-kneazle," Hermione corrected him. "If you're going to try to insult it, at least know what it _is_ for Merlin's sake."

"Whatever it is, it was just after Scabbers!"

"Thanks for letting me know, I'll reward Crookshanks," she said casually, extending one hand to reach for her goblet of juice, the other pushing a few stray strands behind her ear.

"Just because he's an ugly rat doesn't mean he deserves to be attacked all the time. Y-You're scared of him, aren't you?" Ron added with a mocking smile. "You're sending Crookshanks after Scabbers because you're so scared of him. Girls..."

"Scared of rats?" she asked with wide eyes. Then she began shaking with laughter, and Ron shot Harry a confused look when she continued to laugh for a minute straight. She reached over the table and, with incredible speed, took Scabbers into her small hands.

"Don't hold him like that!" Ron protested angrily, attempting to retrieve his rat but failing miserably. "You'll ruin his spine!"

"I know how to handle rats," Hermione said with a laugh, finally handing Scabbers back to Ron.

Attempting to get Scabbers back into his pocket, Ron said, "Oh, I bet you're an expert."

"W-Wait, he stole that towel!" she added in a type of threatening tone as she took Scabbers once again.

Harry saw that the rat at taken a small towel from Hermione.

"I...I needed a wet towel after that boggart," she explained briskly after seeing Harry's thoughtful expression. "T-To wipe my face."

- - - - -

"Trying to show the world how tough you are, huh, Granger?"

Malfoy's tone rang, ignored, through the trees during their first Care of Magical Creatures class. Hermione was bowing to Buckbeak, the enormous Hippogriff that everyone else had been scared of. Harry had to admit that Hermione had some nerve to volunteer to approach Hippogriff first.

Everyone gasped when Buckbeak bowed back to Hermione. "Well done, 'Ermione!" Hagrid shouted happily, clapping his hands. "Now it's time to ride Buckbeak 'ere," caused another wave of gasps to erupt. Hermione's back remained in a casual posture, suggesting she was still nonchalant about the entire situation. "Here yeh go...right there, yup..."

"There she goes, trying to show off, like she's better than us or something," Malfoy went on. Crabbe and Goyle snickered. "Stupid Mudblood."

"Shove off, Malfoy," Harry said with his arms crossed over his chest as Hermione was lowered already back to the ground by a now tame-looking Buckbeak.

"Are you gonna go next, Potter? Show us that you're as tough as that violent friend of yours?" his enemy said, keeping a smirk that was as, in fact, violent as Hermione and walking towards Harry. He was inches away, and the expression on his face dared Harry to take a step back. "I see."

Malfoy turned and began walking towards Buckbeak. "Let me go next!" he demanded. He pushed Hermione out of the way, who immediately recovered and shoved him even harder. Malfoy was only half aware of her retaliation because within moments he was as close to Buckbeak as he had been to Harry a minute ago.

Hagrid was too late. "Draco, no!"

- - - - -

"He's unbelievable," Hermione complained as the door to the Potions classroom opened with a deadly silence. She coughed loudly a few times, grabbing her throat, and Harry decided to take her books – there were subjects like Ancient Runes titled on some of them and he wondered briefly how she was finding the time to take all these classes – for her rather than to ask her how severe the damage of her neck was from the scar she'd gotten.

"So, this is Snape's class?" she whispered to Harry once she stopped coughing. It wasn't much of a surprise when she took her books back without thanking him as they took a seat at a table.

"Unfortunately," he whispered back.

And as if on cue, Snape himself walked into the classroom, his dark robes pulled behind him. "I see we're missing someone after a very dangerous Care of Magical Creatures class."

Ron lifted himself on his elbows to prepare to defend Hagrid, but Harry pulled his friend back down into his seat, knowing that it wasn't worth it.

"Although we do have a new student today who does not deserve any more attention that I have already given, and I shall speak to her in my office after this class is over because she chooses to use physical violence after accusing one of my students of calling her a certain name." He said it all very quickly.

Hermione stood up. "But I need to go to my next class after this," she protested.

"Raise your hand, Miss Granger," Snape snapped, avoiding her gaze as he began writing instructions on making a new potion: a Shrinking Solution. "I've been informed by Professor Dumbledore that that won't be much of a problem, as you have enough _time_ on your hands – "

"You can't tell people that!" she said angrily.

"Again, raise your hand. If you'd like me to keep my mouth shut about that amongst a few – trashy – things, I recommend you keep your own mouth shut. Thank you."

"I'll tell Professor Dumbledore. You can't do this." Hermione's arms were crossed over her chest and she wore that familiar challenging expression.

"Your hand must be raised, Miss Granger!" Snape retaliated. "It's quite unbelievable that now you and Potter here get special attention from the Headmaster. Just because you – "

"No!" Hermione shouted. "I'm telling Professor Dumbledore about this right now!"

Harry had expected Snape to lock the door of the room, but instead he simply shouted, "Fifty points from Gryffindor for disrespecting a teacher, and detention for walking out!"

Hermione waved her arm almost mockingly at him as she disappeared past the door. Snape faced the rest of the class, eyeing them all suspiciously as though he assumed they were to follow her and create a huge protest.

"What are you looking at, Longbottom?"

- - - - -

"That was some stunt back there," Harry said as casually as possible at dinner.

Both Malfoy and Snape were nowhere to be found, which was a nice closure to the day.

"I can't believe Professor Dumbledore trusts that slime ball," she muttered back. "I mean, honestly, why?"

Ron shrugged and said, "It's a mystery."

"Forgive me, but he better have a pretty good reason," Hermione said in a low voice. Dumbledore might have been the only person who had been talked about like this, in this tone, from Hermione with the words "Forgive me" being spoken beforehand. "I mean, he told Snape everything. _Everything_. He also told Professors Lupin and McGonagall, but _they're_ not going to use it against me. This sucks."

"I'm sorry."

"And I'm Santa, Harry."

It was a bit upsetting that she didn't believe he actually meant it.

"So, Snape knows...everything?" Harry asked for confirmation.

"Don't try to somehow get the information out of him," Hermione warned. "I mean, you can torture it out of him, that would be kind of worth it in the end, really."

"I'm not going to force any information out of anyone, don't worry," he explained to her.

She looked at him with incredulous eyes. "Really? Because I could've sworn that's what you've been trying to do ever since we met."

"No, no, I'm just curious..."

"Just because you're the only student here who's somewhat nice to me – besides that weird Ginny – " this earned her a glare from Ron, "doesn't mean that I can't find other people to hang out with who don't ask questions and who I actually care about."

Harry was determined to not let her know how much her words had stung him. He shrugged his shoulders with nonchalance and talked to Ron about the different types of boggarts their classmates had – excluding Anthony – during their Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

"She really is pretty nasty," Ron said as they walked up the stairs to in the Gryffindor tower up to the boys' dormitories. "And she goes on about how Snape's bad..."

"Hermione's not as bad as Snape and you know it," Harry replied. Moments after he spoke, though, he wondered why he was bothering to defend her.

After she had gotten that insult out of her system at dinner, she had remained quiet for another five minutes then retreated to a more deserted part of the Gryffindor table and ate the rest of her food alone.

"Some nerve she's got, though, for saying she doesn't even care, and that you're nosy and all that. And then she had to throw Ginny into all of it!" Ron exclaimed as he began changing into his night clothes.

Harry sorted through what was left of the contents of his trunk, as he didn't desire to unpack everything at once. He put away several pairs of socks, one of them containing the Sneakoscope Hermione had taken out to examine. A loud clinging sound, the sound of money, fell and hit the bottom of his trunk as he took out an old t-shirt, and he saw what looked like a few galleons. Harry didn't remember leaving any spare change laying around in his trunk.

Counting the money, he realized it was the same amount of money that the DNA book had cost, and that it must have been placed there when a certain Sneakoscope had been looked at. He also thought back to the wet towel she had that morning, and remembered the sensation of someone wiping his face with a wet towel after he'd fainted from the dementor's wrath. Clutching the money and memories tightly, he saw that Hermione did – at least sort of, in her own way that she wouldn't admit – care.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Aww.


	9. Continued Questions

**Author's Note:** I honestly believe that it wasn't my fault this chapter is so late, but if you blame me for having a fifteen page term paper, being assigned millions of projects in every subject, studying for finals to pass my freshman year of high school, having a 103 fever, and getting an EKG, blood work and x-rays, then I apologize.

* * *

How to Love

_Chapter Nine: Continued Questions_

Hermione was absent for the following week. Dumbledore didn't seem as present either, but he was sure to make an appearance during dinner, which blanketed silence over any rumors that claimed he was taking on Sirius Black single-handedly. However, the headmaster looked more and more haggard and winded every day; he took on the appearance of an avid traveler.

Harry's curiosity shot through the Great Hall's sky-mimicking roof when Hermione sat at the Gryffindor table for breakfast that Monday as though she had done this every day for two school years just like him. She looked different, though, somehow. It wasn't in her actions: they were as casual as possible – too casual. Maybe her face wasn't as pale, or her cheeks weren't as hollow, or her hair wasn't as bushy. Whatever it was, Harry needed to pinpoint it down.

"I'll be right back," he told Ron and Ginny.

"Where –" Ron began, but he cut off when it became obvious that Harry wasn't going to turn back around.

Hermione didn't look at him when he sat down, but said, "Came here to bother me with some more questions?"

"Hey, you owe me a week's worth of answers," Harry replied, smiling, but then he remembered that her eyes were focused elsewhere and couldn't see his smile; it faded quickly.

"If only a week's worth was zero," she said in a hopeful voice that was followed by an exaggerated sigh.

It was when she pushed a few strands of hair away from her face that he saw what made her look different. The scar around her neck was gone.

"What happened to the scar?"

Hermione froze for a moment, and then finally turned to face him. "Wow, I don't know, I just woke up and it was gone," she said with raised eyebrows and a mocking smirk that was only too similar to Draco Malfoy's.

Ignoring her, he continued. "Is that why you weren't here? You went somewhere to get it removed or something?"

"It doesn't even take a week to simply – my God, I was told you were _smart_," she said impatiently.

After another letting out another sigh, she looked around the Great Hall and Harry copied the action. He was now aware of the curious eyes gazing upon them. He was used to this; there was always someone staring at him in the Great Hall, and even though there were more pairs of eyes on him than usual, it didn't make him feel uneasy – after all, he wasn't doing anything wrong. Harry quickly realized that although Hermione did not possess the fame that he did, she did not seem fazed by the attention.

"And besides, I could've just covered up the scar if it was impossible to remove," Hermione continued, as though the fact that he was not retaliating yet was something she needed to fix.

"Then why didn't you?"

"I could ask you the same question," she said, looking up at his scar for a split second. Then she thought for a moment before continuing into what became a bit of a rant that raised her voice a little too much. "Although it's kind of stuck with you I guess. Stupid trademark. I don't understand what makes you so different from the rest of us. You don't even remember defying the killing curse."

It was her attitude toward his popularity, fame, and any other thing that set him aside from the other students that made Harry gravitate towards her in the first place, and he felt his mood slightly rise with his curiosity.

"Thanks. I mean it," he added when Hermione looked at him to decipher whether he was being sarcastic or not. "You don't care about my fame so, er, thanks."

"And you don't care about the fact that a totally pissed off boggart looking like absolute crap was after me in Defense Against the Dark Arts, so I guess we're even now." She paused and looked up at the enchanted ceiling. "Well, you do care in the sense that you want to ask me about it, but you're not staring at me as though I'm actually going to turn into Anthony. What are you looking at?" she added towards a first year staring at her from a few seats down with something between curiosity and fear. The first year shuddered and Hermione pulled out her wand. "Go, you eavesdropping, useless little –"

"Maybe _that's_ why people are staring at you strangely," Harry said, not able to suppress a grin. He had to admit that Hermione's attitude toward the first year was slightly amusing.

Hermione, who had been concentrating on the small wizard that was now running to another part of the Gryffindor table, turned to face him and shrugged but did not speak, so Harry continued.

"So, why _were_ you gone last week?"

"Oh, you know, just taking a little vacation," she said casually. Her breakfast was suddenly of a great interest to her.

Playing along, he asked, "To where?"

"Where I used to live. Professor Dumbledore took me there," she said. This might have been a good piece of information if Harry knew anything about where she lived.

"Why?"

"Don't worry about it," Hermione said in the kind of tone one would use to calm someone down. She even patted his arm.

"I'm not worrying."

"Don't _pry_, then. Better?"

A little insulted, Harry looked around at anything but Hermione. His eyes landed on her breakfast that she had only taken one bite out of. "Aren't you hungry?"

She looked down at what he had been talking about. "I don't need to eat much." Then she laughed softly to herself, as though thinking of an inside joke that Harry had been excluded from. "You want this?"

Pushing her food aside, he said, "No, thanks."

"Don't eat much, either?"

"I already ate with Ron and Ginny," he lied.

Hermione looked over him at the two Weasleys as though their appearances would provide proof. "I don't like that Ron kid."

"I noticed," Harry said.

She refocused her gaze upon him and said, "He's like the poster child for birth control."

Harry raised his eyebrows at her. "That's taking it a bit too far." As Ron's best friend, it might have been his duty to leave Hermione and say that she had to accept their friendship or not speak to him, but he knew that he was the one who needed to accept something: that was just the way she was.

Hermione shrugged, as though taking things a bit too far was fairly common for her. "Ginny seems alright, though," she redeemed. "And she has the biggest crush on you."

He had noticed this far before he met Hermione, and agreeing with her, Harry said, "I know. It's only because I'm famous."

"Not necessarily," Hermione said, now breaking their eye contact and cutting her food, although Harry knew she wasn't going to eat it.

"Oh yeah?" His eyebrows were raised once again.

"Give it a few years and you'll be more fanciable. You're way too skinny and short right now, though," she said, looking up at him at the end of her last sentence with a smirk playing on her lips. The fact that she saw him as potentially being "fanciable" confused him, but he did not press the matter. There were more important things to talk about, such as,

"So –" But before he could continue, Hermione cut him off.

"You answer one of my questions first, Captain Curious," she said sternly. "Were you or were you not kept in a cupboard when you were younger?"

"What are you –"

Cutting him off again, Hermione said, "Answer the question." He glared at her. "Please."

"Why?"

"I haven't forgotten the rules of the game. After all, I made them myself," she said defiantly, her smirk returning to bother him. "I answered when you asked where I was going –"

"It was actually very vague –"

"—and I answered, so you owe me an answer."

So were they back to the questions game? Harry sighed and replied with, "No, I wasn't kept in a bloody cupboard. That's one of the randomest questions I've ever heard."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I – why would I not be sure?"

"You see, Harry," she said, and it took Harry a few moments to register the fact that she was referring to him by his first name, "I was talking to Professor Dumbledore while I was gone, and I asked him the same question. I remembered when you were talking to Hagrid about a cupboard. He answered the same way you did."

"He answered honestly, then."

"No, he didn't," Hermione said. Her brown eyes were giving him a blazing look, but Harry was determined to not be the first to look away. "You see, you were basically saying that you had been kept in a cupboard and were glad that your living situation had changed."

Immediately conjuring a lie, he said, "I got trapped in a cupboard here, Dark magic and all that –"

She cut him off again. "No, you were talking about the Muggles you lived with." He opened his mouth to speak, but she said, "I'm not stupid."

"Why does it even matter?" Harry said, now angry that she was going to lengths to find out about his home life while the only measures he took were asking her questions. "And you do realize you wasted a question by making it rhetorical, right?"

"It doesn't matter," Hermione said stiffly in a pitch higher than her own, looking away from him. "I just wanted to be absolutely sure about it, that's all."

"Why? So you could use it against me or something?" Harry didn't know where the words were coming from, although he could guess that his anger was playing a role in it.

"What – no, I wouldn't use it against you. That's ridiculous." Her tone was still high pitched and stiff. People who had been staring at them before had decided that the two talking was nothing of interest, and so by now none of them had appeared to sense the sudden tension within the atmosphere. "No, I was just curious. You would know how that feels."

"Yeah, I do," he snapped. "And you owe _me_ an answer now."

Hermione looked as though she was going to protest, seek a loophole in the rules of the game, but his tone seemed to have changed her mind. "Alright. Shoot."

"How exactly did you get that scar around your neck?"

"It's not there anymore," Hermione replied, raising one eyebrow.

"Don't get smart."

"Alright, alright," she said in that same tone used to calm someone down. Then, with the most casual voice Harry had ever heard, she said, "Someone tried to kill me."

Although he already suspected this, the proof of it sent a small shiver down his spine. "W-Who?"

"Nobody important."

"Hermione –"

"It doesn't matter."

"Why would it not matter?" he asked, bemused.

Hermione shrugged and began cutting her practically uneaten food again. "You didn't know them."

"Then can you tell me _why _someone would want to kill you?"

She looked at him, then back at her food. "They weren't well and went after me, seeing as I was the only person around. Just wanted to take their anger out."

"Through murder?" he asked. He had a vivid image of an angry Uncle Vernon and wondered how angry he would have to be to actually commit murder.

"Attempted murder," she corrected him, and then shrugged again. "Stuff happens."

"But – but someone tried to _kill_ you," he said, still trying to grasp the concept of Hermione's casualness.

"But they didn't succeed," she retorted.

"Are you sure you're not going to tell me who did it?"

Hermione nodded. "It really doesn't matter."

"It was Anthony, wasn't it?" The idea had popped into his head when he remembered Anthony with a scar that was scarily similar to Hermione's.

The bell rang, and Harry cursed under his breath when Hermione didn't answer and walked away from him as quickly as possible.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Sorry that this chapter sucked and was short. And sorry if this chapter seemed irrelevant and confused you; I swear I know what I'm doing, haha. Oh and I'll be on a weekly updating schedule again, I promise. I might even update quicker than that since it's summer, but we'll see :) The next chapter features Dumbledore. Woo. I realize I probably lost a few readers by updating so late…if you've stuck around, thank you very much :D


	10. The Nineteenth of September

**Author's Note:** Thank you to those who stuck with the story after my small absence. I appreciate it so much that this chapter features Dumbledore. Unless you hate Dumbledore, then oops. Sorry. He is a crazy manipulator, but very fun to write about. And he gives answers (…somewhat? Well, in the way that _he_ gives answers), and even though they're vague, they're something that you guys have been demanding from the beginning with angry expressions and pitchforks raised in your hands.

**Disclaimer:** We haven't had one of these in a while. And by a while I mean since chapter five. I don't own Harry Potter and I'm not J.K. Rowling, you know the drill.

* * *

How to Love

_Chapter Ten: The Nineteenth of September_

It was Hermione's birthday. Harry hadn't even realized it until lunch, when Ginny asked Ron for the date.

"Da nine – nineteemth," Ron mumbled through his food. Ginny rolled her eyes and smiled at Harry, whose mind was reeling.

"September nineteenth," he said aloud, as though it was a spell that would reveal its importance to him immediately. And, in a way, it did, because Hermione coughed loudly, five seats away from him. Nobody else seemed to notice, however. The image of Hermione's birthday in writing underneath her picture was clear in his mind. He regretfully remembered the rest of the family tree from her favored DNA book, the proof that she was an orphan…just like him. "Hermione's birthday."

Ginny choked on her food for a moment, recovered, and stared at him. "What?"

"Hermione's birthday," he repeated, "is today."

Ron just looked at him and shrugged. "Let's throw a bloody party for her," he said, looking away from Harry and giving Hermione a scorching look. Ginny giggled.

"Oh, you're nice," Harry said, annoyed for reasons he himself could not comprehend. Hermione had been nasty to him in the past, so it was odd for him to feel bothered when someone was being nasty to _her_. Maybe it was because while she made her unnecessary comments, she was intriguing. She held mysteries that Harry was determined to figure out.

And there was always the fact that Hermione didn't care about his fame. This was very unlike Ginny, who was now looking at him with her head tilted to the side and whose eyelids were fluttering a little too frequently to be considered normal. Around Hermione, at least, he was just like everybody else.

So if it was her birthday, what was Harry supposed to do? Give her a present? His stomach twisted horribly with guilt. There must have been something he could do. As he filed out of the Great Hall with the other students and walked with Ron and Ginny to the Gryffindor tower, he wondered if saying "Happy birthday" would be good enough. Was he even considered a friend of hers?

His thoughts were interrupted when Ron was waving at him frantically. "Harry!"

"W-What?" he asked, his mind not completely drifting away from Hermione and her fourteenth birthday….

"Take a seat, mate. You look weird."

Harry obeyed and felt the impression Ron and Ginny made in the couch beside him. "I'll be right back," he said moments later. He could hear the springs of the furniture as his friends stood to question him, but he quickened his pace and their voices were unheard.

It wasn't much, he thought to himself as he extracted the galleons from his trunk, but it was something. Harry didn't want to think of Hermione's reaction for fear that it wasn't going to be a good one. Although he couldn't blame her, really. He had to admit this was literally the least he could do. Would she think he saw her as poor and needy? Harry shook the thought away as he walked down the spiral staircase, back to the common room.

Hermione was there, sitting in a corner, hiding behind shadows and a book. Harry wondered for a moment if it really was the nineteenth of September. She was acting as she always did: away from everyone else, reading and reading.

Harry snuck behind the couch that only Ron was sitting on – Ginny had found no reason to be with her brother since Harry had left – and sat on a chair beside Hermione's.

"Hello," she said politely, however he wasn't sure if it was polite of her to not look at him.

"Happy birthday."

This time, Hermione looked at him…for a long time, and like she had never seen him before. "You remembered," she told him. She said it in a strange, airy voice.

"Er, yeah," he said awkwardly.

"I almost forgot it myself, you know," Hermione continued as though he hadn't spoken. "Until I overheard your friend _Ginny_ –" she said Ginny's name as though it were a sin to speak of "—say that it was the nineteenth."

"You heard that from five seats away?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"I've adapted to good hearing after a while."

He wasn't sure how that worked exactly, but he didn't comment. To make up for his awful present – if he could even call it that – he wouldn't bother her with questions. "Er, here," he said, handing her a few galleons. "You gave me this, and I thought I'd return it."

"But I gave you money back for buying me a DNA book," she said, looking at the money as though she were expecting it to jump out of her hands. "I don't need this."

"Consider it a birthday present," he said, shrugging as though the idea had come to him that very moment.

"A what?" Hermione asked. Her eyebrows were raised and the money was still in her hands that were now shaking.

"A birthday present," he repeated. He wished he didn't have to.

"I…okay." She looked confused. It was strange, but what she said next was even stranger. "Should I thank you?"

Harry was more confused than she looked. He had subconsciously expected her to throw the money back at him. Had she never been taught proper manners, or was the idea of receiving a present so new to her that she did not know how to react? Or maybe, he thought, was this not even considered a present to her? Although by the sound of it, she sounded like she didn't even know what a present was….

And then Harry remembered his younger self, trapped in a cupboard and staring at the dusty clock that would read midnight. He always stayed up on the night of July thirtieth to witness July thirty-first begin, and then he would wish himself a happy birthday. Nobody else would.

"No, it was nothing really."

- - - - -

Harry needed to see Dumbledore. Immediately.

He was rushing through the corridors, and it was a relief that the early risers that Monday morning were staring at him because he was rushing at this early hour, not so much because he was Harry Potter – after all, by the time they registered his identity, he was yards away.

There were the gargoyles in front of the headmaster's office, and Harry smacked his scar-bearing forehead. How could he be so stupid? And then he wondered just how far his stupidity could go, because he was walking towards the gargoyles anyways. "Er," he began awkwardly, "I need to see Professor Dumbledore."

The gargoyles didn't move. He didn't expect them to.

"Er, _please_ may I see Professor Dumbledore?"

Nothing.

And so Harry waited. It was rather ridiculous, he thought, just waiting outside the headmaster's office to talk about something that he probably wouldn't get any answers about. But it was the only chance he had, really. It might have been five or ten minutes, Harry wasn't sure, but eventually his waiting was over when the gargoyles jumped out of the way and Dumbledore appeared from the top of the staircase in dark blue robes.

"Hello, Harry," he said casually, as though this meeting had been arranged.

Harry wiped debris off his school robes that he wasn't sure was even there. "Er, Professor, I'd like to speak to you. Please."

"Ah, yes, I did hear a student trying to enter my office," Dumbledore said, staring at the wall behind Harry with piercing blue eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't arrive here sooner. But what is it you'd like to speak to me about?"

Harry suddenly felt very nervous, and he wondered if this was even a good idea. "I want to talk about Hermione Granger, sir."

Dumbledore didn't say anything as he led him to his office, which made Harry uncomfortable when he walked into the room filled with odd instruments and portraits of previous headmasters without a spoken invitation.

"Sit, please," he ordered. Harry obeyed. "I have to say, Harry, that I knew you would ask me about Miss Granger. She is quite the mysterious young lady."

"She knew about the cupboard the Dursleys kept me in," Harry said more forcefully than intended. He added, "Sir," as an unspoken apology.

"Ah," Dumbledore said. He folded his hands together and interlaced his long fingers. A minute or so passed before he spoke again. "She's certainly smarter than the average third year, I must say. Miss Granger asked me about the cupboard, however I assure you I did not tell her anything."

Harry remembered lying to her, telling her that the cupboard was not what she thought it was, although he assumed that Dumbledore had lied to respect Harry's privacy, while Harry lied to keep the attention on her, and to remain as normal as possible in her eyes. "Thank you."

"Although how she picked up a small detail that you told Professor Hagrid, and held onto it to question me about, would mean that she is just as much curious as she is about you as you are about her."

Harry found this hard to believe, although he tried to word this more politely by simply saying, "Sir, I don't think that's the case."

"But Harry, I _do_. You see, Miss Granger asked me other things about you. Yes, she was quite curious. I might even say she was a bit concerned as well."

"I don't think Hermione was concerned," Harry said as nicely as he could. "She's not like that."

"On the outside," Dumbledore corrected him. Harry didn't understand, but he assumed that this was just because it was too early.

"I gave her a birthday present –" Okay, well, it wasn't enough to be qualified as one, but Harry continued, "—and she acted like she didn't know what one was."

Dumbledore smiled at him. Even his light blue eyes seemed to be smiling. "That was very generous of you, Harry. I'm sure that she appreciated it more than you could understand."

Harry opened his mouth, eager to not only disagree but ask him to respond to the second part of his sentence, however Dumbledore lifted his index finger just an inch into the air, then rested it back amongst the rest of his interlaced fingers.

"Harry," he began, "you must understand that Miss Granger hasn't been through the best of times. The simplest acts of kindness are strange to her."

"What do you mean?"

"I will respect her privacy as I have respected yours," Dumbledore declared. "And so I will not tell you what she does not want you to know."

"But she doesn't seem to want me to know anything," Harry said.

"You must earn her trust. This will prove to be quite difficult though, I'm afraid."

"How did you gain _her_ trust?" he asked. Harry hadn't even realized how he had ended up sitting on the very edge of his chair.

"I gained her trust from helping her through something I hope she never experiences again," Dumbledore said. He was no longer smiling. In fact, his expression made it appear as though he had not smiled in years.

Had the headmaster not looked so grave, Harry would have asked exactly what it was that Hermione experienced. And so he took another route: asked a different question. "Professor, er, Hermione was absent for a week, and she told me that you with her at the place that she lived."

Dumbledore's expression barely changed; if anything, he looked even more grave. "Again, I wish to respect her privacy. I was simply helping her sort things out so that her visit next summer would be a little more…welcome."

"But," Harry said, his mind spinning, "she said she was Muggleborn. How did you –"

"Deal with Muggles?" Dumbledore asked. It was strange to imagine the headmaster, dressed in bizarre robes, "sorting things out" with Muggles. Harry had hoped this mental image entered Dumbledore's mind as well, and would make him a bit happier – perhaps he would even laugh at it – but the headmaster's expression remained the same. "It wasn't easy. The Muggles Hermione had lived near –" Harry's curiosity was growing exponentially, and nearly exploded at the fact that Dumbledore had said "near" and not "with"…why? "—were rather tough, I have to say. It wasn't easy to negotiate with them, but I assure you Miss Granger will be safe for the next summer."

Hermione's safety wasn't something Harry really worried about. She always seemed to be able to defend herself, standing with a scar that had previously been engraved in her neck, cuts on the sides of her face, and a look that would frighten most people out of her way. "Why wouldn't she be safe?"

"I did say that she hasn't been through the best of times," Dumbledore reminded him. Then he leaned forward towards Harry and spoke in a low voice. "I really do hope you will be able to help her, Harry."

"But how?"

"Teaching her," he said plainly, and before Harry could ask what he could possibly teach her, he continued by saying, "how to love."

* * *

**Author's Note:** No, Dumbledore doesn't necessarily mean love in the sexytime way. You know how he is, with love being a weapon and everything. I just thought I'd be clever and relate the story to its title. And sorry if there are major typos and things that don't chronologically or grammatically make sense. It's midnight and I'm tired and I can't be bothered to proofread this chapter, so I'm just praying that although it's short, it has enough content to satisfy my lovely readers.


	11. A Flying Lesson

**Author's Note:** I know I promised weekly updates and this is update is breaking that promise, but there was a situation and so this chapter is a bit delayed. Stuff happens, kids. Yous know that I usually try to make it up when my updates are late, so I hopefully you enjoy this chapter :)

* * *

How to Love

_Chapter Eleven: A Flying Lesson_

Harry had expected the money he had given to Hermione for her birthday to show up in one of his textbooks or his school bag, but the evidence that she had kept it was clear over two weeks after the money had been given, when she was sitting in the common room holding the galleons in one small – yet somehow rough, differing from the dainty hands of other girls their age – hand. In her other hand, she held a piece of parchment and was looking at it with some sort of fear, as though it held some sort of threat to her, and so it didn't seem like the average piece of homework. It wasn't the awful, deep fear that she had showed when she saw the boggart-Anthony; it was more like a nervous fear…Harry had remembered wearing that expression before Quidditch games. He wondered what would make Hermione look like that. And so naturally, he approached her about it.

"What's that?" he asked as he took a seat next to her.

She shook her head as though coming out of a trance and curled her fingers over the galleons, which was apparently what she had thought he was talking about. But when he nodded to the parchment, she didn't seem too relieved. "Something ridiculous."

Vague as always. "Care to elaborate?"

"Look, just read it." It was a shock to him that she was actually not putting up a fight. Perhaps what was written on the parchment would be a disappointment, something ridiculous, just as she had said.

_Miss Granger,_

_You are scheduled to have flying lessons this Saturday, the sixteenth. Please meet Madam Hooch at the Quidditch pitch. A broom will be provided for you to use._

Vividly remembering his own first flying lesson, Harry asked, "What's so bad about this?"

"Nothing," she said, sounding defensive. "I was just wanted to, you know, study, and then they have to bother me with a flying lesson."

Harry doubted this was the case…she still sounded nervous. "It's nothing, really," he said, trying not to sound as though he was boasting. But with the look she was giving him, his attempt failed.

"I'm fine when I'm on the ground, you know. I'm not a wuss," she told him. "Flying is just…"

"Something you've never done before."

Hermione nodded. Her hand was clutching the galleons with more force than was necessary. It was odd to see Hermione even slightly nervous about anything, but he guessed that even the tough-looking girl had her weaknesses, no matter how much she tried to cover it up.

"I could help you," he offered suddenly. "I have a Quidditch practice tomorrow, and I could go to the pitch early, you could come with me and I'll help you out."

She hesitated before saying, "No, I'll be fine."

"Look, everyone needs help once in a while," he told her.

"Not me," she said defiantly, lifting her chin up slightly as though to add to the effect. "I'll be fine. I don't need help."

"Let's not call it help, then," Harry insisted. "Let's just call it…getting a head start."

Hermione chuckled a bit – though with or without humor, he wasn't quite sure – and then bit her lip. "I don't know."

"Well, I'm going to the Quidditch pitch at five, an hour before the meeting," he began to conclude. If she didn't show up, at least he could practice flying for a little bit. "You can choose whether or not to meet me there."

"Alright," she agreed, appearing deep in thought as she internally worked on making the decision. "Seems fair enough."

- - - - -

Harry didn't expect her to show up at five, but there was still a tinge of disappointment that sunk his mood a bit when he attended an empty Quidditch pitch. Well, he could still practice flying, as he had planned beforehand if Hermione was to be…well…Hermione.

He mounted the broom and kicked off, enjoying the wind wrapping around him. Everything – dementors, Sirius Black, homework, Snape, and other dreadful things – was gone for that small amount of time as he flew through the air, weightless and free. Harry spun in circles, flew as a small figure against the darkening sky. His messy hair was becoming messier with every second he spent zooming through the atmosphere, but he really didn't care.

Then he allowed himself to fly closer to the ground when he saw her.

Hermione was leaning against the wood that supported the stands. The top row of her teeth was pressed against her bottom lip.

"Getting a head start seems like an alright idea," she said as he landed on the ground, his feet unfortunately returning to the earth. "I might be graded, after all."

Deciding to not show his happiness that she was there, he went along with it. "Of course."

She eyed him as though he was going to laugh at her, but he surprised her when he didn't. "So, what exactly have I signed up for here?"

"A flying lesson," he told her matter-of-factly.

Hermione's hands immediately went to her hips.

Harry gestured for her to come over to him, and surprisingly, she obeyed. "We'll start with mounting the broom, so –"

"I'm using one of the school's brooms?" she asked, a crease forming between her brows.

"You can use mine," he said, and she eyed him strangely again. "So anyways, as I was saying, mounting the broom. Really easy, just stand like this."

He demonstrated for her, and she imitated him almost perfectly. After being corrected over a few things, Hermione had perfect form. "Now, hold the handle – no, it won't fly off by itself, relax – and there, perfect."

"But what if it _does_ go off by itself?" she asked, trying to appear curious rather than nervous.

"Don't worry, you're not Neville, so crazy stuff like that most likely won't happen to you." He didn't blame her for looking confused.

"Er, now what?"

"Well, if you kick off the ground softly, you'll float about a few inches off the ground."

Hermione kept her gaze on the broom as she said, "Er, okay." She reluctantly kicked off the ground extremely soft and was just barely lifted off the ground.

"Perfect," he told her, but she didn't smile. "Now if you lean forward a bit more –"

"What?" she asked incredulously. "What, do you want me doing flips, too?"

Harry raised his hands in false surrender. "Calm down, Hermione."

She flinched at the sound of her name, reacting as though she was someone else hearing Voldemort's name. Knowing she didn't really enjoy being in the air, he told her how to return to the ground and she immediately handed the broom back to him. "I don't know how they expect me to actually _fly_ a broom," she said, exhaling deeply after she spoke. "It really is ridiculous."

"You can get the hang of it," he said. "It's not scary."

"I never said it was scary!" she shouted defensively. "It's just ridiculous, all right? Not everyone wants to fly into the air with nothing but a stupid broom underneath you, holding you up. They can malfunction and – and just tons of things can happen. Tons of bad things, okay?" Hermione leaned back against what supported the stands, breathing heavily.

Harry didn't really know what to say at first, so a silence lasting for a few minutes blanketed them before he finally said, "You think too much."

She shrugged, knowing this already and not being offended by it. "Sometimes it's better to over-think things. It's how I stay safe."

"Oh come on, flying a broom isn't dangerous," he lied. His memory of a particular Quidditch game last year was only too clear. She knew he was lying as well. "How about I stay on the broom with you?"

"What?"

"How about I stay on the broom with you?" he asked more slowly, carefully watching her reaction.

Hermione looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Are you _crazy_? What makes flying on a broom safer with you there?"

"I know what I'm doing," he told her, putting his hands in his pockets. "You need to get over this fear of yours."

"It is _not_ a fear, Harry!" she yelled.

"Prove it." He lifted the broom up slightly and smirked.

"Oh, no," Hermione said in a low voice. "No. You're being ridiculous."

"It is a fear," he told her, "and you need to get over it. It's not like I'm making you fly by yourself."

"It is _not_ a fear," she repeated, however she didn't yell this time. "And I honestly don't see how you being there would make a difference. Bad things could still happen, you know."

Harry ignored her and mounted the broom. "Sit behind me," he instructed.

"No."

"Yes."

"_No!_"

"You saw me flying before," he reminded her. "Nothing's going to happen."

Hermione crossed her arms across her chest. "You don't know that."

Harry shrugged. "Come on," he insisted, extending a hand. When she didn't say anything else, he asked, "Do you trust me?"

Hermione appeared to have stopped breathing for a second: she was completely still as her chocolate brown eyes stared back at him. And almost robotically, numbly, without any emotion, she stepped towards him and mounted the broom behind him. Her arms wrapped around his waist and he felt the side of her face press against his upper back.

Harry kicked off the ground lightly because he wasn't sure if Hermione's thin arms could keep her on the broom, but she was surprisingly strong. She didn't say anything as he had guided them through the air slowly, exploring pieces of the sky; there were no protests or discussions about whether or not this was, as she had put it, "ridiculous". A comfortable silence was placed between them while they soared through the atmosphere lazily with no sense of time. Her breath was a little uneven, but overall, she seemed content. Then her arms were slowly loosening their grip around his waist, and he wondered if she was falling asleep or finding herself trusting him more.

It seemed more likely that she was falling into a slumber, and so he returned to the ground. But to his surprise, a very conscious Hermione dismounted the broom at the same time he did. He turned to her, wondering if she would tell him that flying was still ridiculous, and that that was a bad idea, but she surprised him again by having the smallest smile on her lips.

* * *

**Author's Note:** You have no idea how many times I rewrote that scene. I hope you're all happy with the unspoken trust and whatnot. And again, I'm sorry for this being late and for any errors I made; I'm tired as heck, man. Thanks for reading :)


	12. Constant Vigilance

**Author's Note:** Sorry for not updating weekly, I've been really busy. I do have a life outside of fan fiction. I'll keep updating as long as yous keep reading/nearly kill me for not having questions answered and chapters out. Enjoy :)

* * *

How to Love

_Chapter Twelve: Constant Vigilance_

Something had happened.

Harry was pretty sure that Hermione trusting him on the Quidditch pitch had been a major contribution to it. The two of them had become friends. By Harry's standards, they had been something like friends before, but Hermione might have not completely agreed. However now, she seemed content with them officially having formed their friendship.

Ron and Ginny, on the other hand, were not as content with this. They scowled when Harry left them to sit next to Hermione halfway through meals in the Great Hall.

"It would be so much easier if she sat here with us," Harry had thought aloud during one breakfast.

"She's not my biggest fan," was Ron's only reply. That was understandable.

All Ginny did was look at Hermione in a way that Harry did not like. He knew that Ron just flat out disliked Hermione (and vice versa), and, while she had seemed fine with her at first when they met, Ginny was now jealous of her and the way Harry and Hermione always found something to talk about, the way they both didn't pay much attention to anyone else while in conversation, the way they had some things in common….

Harry muttered the password to the Fat Lady, who wondered what on earth he was moping about and scoffed when he ignored her. After going through the portrait hole and walking into the common room, he didn't know why he was surprised to see Hermione there on the day of the Hogsmeade trip. Harry had remembered her telling Griphook that she had no legal guardian. He was still confused as to why this was. As he got closer to where she sat, he saw that she was holding a box of chocolates. Alone. Nobody else was in the common room, because classes for first and second years were resuming, and the others who hadn't gone to Hogsmeade were in their dormitories or in the Great Hall.

"Want one?" Hermione offered. She didn't give him time to answer, nor did she look at him as she tossed a piece of chocolate to him.

Catching it, Harry said, "Er, why are you eating so much chocolate?"

"Apparently I'm severely underweight," she said with a shrug.

"So you're trying to gain weight?"

Hermione nodded and ate another piece of chocolate. She did look underweight; her bones stuck out and she looked extremely fragile, as though she'd break if someone hugged her too tightly or hit her too hard. However it didn't seem like such a good idea for someone to hit her. Hermione probably wouldn't react too kindly to that.

"I've gained two pounds so far," she said proudly.

"Er, congrats," Harry said as he sat next to her.

"Here, have some more." A few more pieces of chocolate came flying towards him. "You need to gain some weight, too. Were you underfed or something?"

"No." That was a lie, but she didn't need to know that.

Hermione eyed him for a few seconds longer before sighing and leaning against the back of the couch they were sharing. "So you're not going to Hogsmeade either?"

"I could've gotten my uncle to sign the permission slip if I hadn't blown up my aunt," he explained bitterly, thinking about Ron, who had gotten his signed and was enjoying himself at Hogsmeade. Harry could've always hung out with Ginny, as she was only a second year, but it was strange being with her when Ron wasn't there; and besides, she was being rather nasty ever since he'd become friends with Hermione.

She didn't laugh; she merely pursed her lips for a few seconds and then asked, "He would've signed the form? I thought you said he wasn't the nicest person." It was odd that _she_ was now the person to ask questions. Since when had their roles changed? Did this come with their friendship?

"We made a deal," he told her. "If I behaved, he'd sign it."

"Was that difficult?"

"What?"

"Behaving. Was that difficult?" she asked with a smirk that she certainly wasn't trying conceal.

He half-laughed. "Sort of. I've acted up in the past."

"Oh?"

And so he told her all of the things he had done in the past that would qualify as him "acting up" in the Dursleys' eyes…it took him a while to tell her everything, as he had been seen as such a nuisance. Harry was surprised to discover how easy it was to tell her pieces of his home life; he had never felt comfortable enough around Ron and Ginny to tell them all these stories. Hermione laughed when appropriate, and pursed her lips when there wasn't anything else to say. He avoided telling her the punishments he'd received, and she didn't ask. When he got to the story about Dudley's birthday at the zoo, she gasped.

"You can talk to snakes?"

He nodded, but didn't want to elaborate. His second year of Hogwarts had surrounded that topic already. "So, do you have any stories?" he asked, partially because he wanted to distract from the topic of him being a Parselmouth, and partially because he really was curious.

Hermione threw her head back and laughed. "Oh, do I."

This answer surprised him. "Then tell me," he insisted, taking a piece of chocolate from the box she held in her lap. Her extremely thin hand pushed a piece of hair behind her ear, then rested on her too-skinny thigh. He put the piece of chocolate back.

"If you knew all of them, you'd be running out of here screaming," she told him plainly, avoiding his gaze.

"And why is that?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow.

Hermione took some chocolate and somehow ate it so slowly that she didn't have time to elaborate. "Just trust me."

Harry knew he could. Just one of the horrors he knew already was that someone had tried to kill her; Harry had a terrible sense that Anthony was the one who'd done it – after all, boggart-Anthony didn't seem like the nicest person – but there wasn't enough evidence to argue with her…Hermione had said that Anthony was her best friend. And best friends wouldn't do that, right?

"Then…tell me the stories that keep me here," he told her, eager for at least a compromise.

"Alright. Just one. But don't expect much," she began, swallowing the food and taking a deep breath. "Once, I sort of jumped from a rooftop of a building onto someone

Harry had a strange urge to laugh. "You _what_? Why?"

Hermione simply shrugged. "He's a tried a few stunts himself," she said harshly, then sighed. "Wasn't one of my best ideas. I broke my leg. He broke more bones, though, so I guess it was worth it."

That was a violent way of putting it, Harry thought. "Couldn't you have just, like, gone after him on foot or something? Jumping off buildings is…you know…."

"Insane?" Hermione finished, shaking her head. "Well, I couldn't possibly go after him on foot. I needed the element of surprise."

Harry didn't know what else to say.

"Maybe that wasn't the best choice for a story to tell you," she said with a small laugh, not looking at him. "You think I'm crazy."

"Once you get over the shock of it, it's kind of amusing…in a strange way," Harry told her. "Other than the fact that you broke your leg," he added quickly.

Hermione waved his last sentence away. "I deserved it for being stupid and jumping off a building."

"You're not stupid," he said, bemused. Despite being two years behind, she was gradually getting to the top of all their classes. She had extra lessons with teachers in order to catch up with her classmates and seemed to understand it all very easily; there weren't many questions in class that she couldn't answer. However _how_ she got to all those lessons was a mystery. Hermione had tutoring at the same time she had her regular classes. At nine o'clock, she had Divination and tutored Charms. Harry had asked how this was possible

"I just know what books tell me," she said, shaking her head. "There are more important things to know. I've done stupid things. No books could've changed that."

Harry didn't have time to say anything – and if he was being completely honest with himself, he didn't know what he would've said with that time…he was too lost in his thoughts – because Hermione suddenly shouted, "Hey, you!"

"Hermione, what –" Harry began to ask, but she cut him off by waving a hand towards him.

"Don't eavesdrop. It's rude," Hermione said bitterly, and he immediately knew that she wasn't referring to him.

A voice from the top of the boys' dormitories said, "I wasn't eavesdropping!"

Harry turned to look into the shadows, desperate to see who was speaking. He only heard obvious shuffling that he hadn't detected before. Hermione didn't even look at where the voice came from, and Harry wondered if that was because it was directly behind her and she couldn't be bothered to.

"I wasn't eavesdropping!" the figure shouted.

"I heard the boys' dormitories door open slowly, and after fifteen seconds, you didn't take a step towards the stairs. It didn't help that I heard you holding onto the railing to lean over to look at us."

Harry didn't remember ever hearing anything. Even when neither he nor Hermione said a thing, he hadn't heard a door open, and even if he did, he wouldn't count how long it took for them to walk towards the staircase. Was this normal for Hermione, to be constantly on the lookout for eavesdroppers?

The voice from the top of the stairs, clearly male and slightly deeper than Harry's, stated several incoherent reasons as to why Hermione was obviously misguided.

"Shouldn't you be off moping about how you're not at Hogsmeade or something?" Hermione snapped, examining her fingernails.

Something struck Harry; he himself hadn't had the best attitude towards not being at Hogsmeade. The boy whom she was talking to stormed down the steps and walked across them without even looking in their direction. He muttered something under his breath – Hermione must have heard it, for she said, "Watch it, sailor!" – and trudged through the portrait hole.

"You never cease to entertain me, Hermione," Harry told her, chuckling.

At first he had expected her to glare at him, which was why he had tried to contain his laughter as much as possible, but she smiled.

"Do people always eavesdrop on your conversations like that?" Hermione asked a few moments later. She glared at the portrait hole, where the boy had left.

Harry shrugged. "I dunno. I suppose. I've learned to ignore it, though. And I don't notice things like _that_."

"Like what?" Her eyebrows pulled together.

"Like hearing someone all the way up there," he said, pointing towards the boys' dormitories. "Especially hearing people holding onto a railing."

"The door opening was pretty loud, you were just distracted. And he had sweaty palms. Easier to hear holding onto a railing," Hermione said. "It's very useful to be aware of your surroundings."

"So are you always on the lookout for eavesdroppers or something?" Harry asked her with one eyebrow raised. How could someone possibly multi-task like that?

"Eavesdroppers and other things." She looked into the fireplace, whose flames seemed to be dying down the more she stared, as though intimidated by her gaze. "Well, anyways," she continued, shaking strands of hair out of her eyes, "What've you been up to before you came over here?" The question was as casual as ever.

Moping around the castle. "Oh, nothing really. Just walking around."

"And moping," she said, annoyed. When he opened his mouth to speak, she cut him off. "I saw the look on your face when you walked in here."

Slightly offended, Harry refused to say anything.

"I think it's stupid," Hermione told him, now looking away from the fireplace and back at him. "No offense," she added, which was odd and un-Hermione-like. "But honestly, _please_ get a hold of yourself, Harry. You don't see _me_ whining about the fact that I'll never visit Hogsmeade. At least you've got a chance for next year."

He wasn't as offended anymore. After all, Hermione was just like that. She'd tell him how it was, and he would see that she had a point. It was part of their friendship. Harry knew that she was right. He did have a small chance to ask Uncle Vernon to sign the permission slip next year. Hermione didn't have anybody….

"How is it possible," Harry began to ask, remembering the day when they'd visited Gringotts together, "for you to not have a _legal_ guardian?"

Hermione's eyebrows were raised, clearly a product of her surprise that he had remembered a piece of information like that from weeks ago. "I-I'm not sure," she said, still in shock. "You know, I _did_ have a guardian. Sort of. He just wasn't legal."

"But you said something like…like it was impossible for him to be a legal guardian?" Harry asked. "Was he too – too – I don't know…" He hadn't put much thought into Hermione's lack of a guardian. It seemed like too sensitive of a topic to ask her about, but he'd felt that now, since they were friends, the worst she could do was tell him she didn't want to talk about it. It was comforting.

"Anthony was my guardian," Hermione said in a distant voice, "in a way. Got me out of trouble and stuff like that. But it was impossible for him to be legally a guardian because he wasn't eighteen, and he and the authorities didn't really get along." She half-laughed, as though trying to convince _herself_ that this was somewhat funny. "And other reasons." At this, her quiet laughter came to a halt.

"Was – is –" Harry began, not sure whether to speak about him in past or present tense, "he a _criminal_?" Was this the type of person Hermione normally associated herself with? How had she switched from befriending someone like Anthony to someone like Harry?

"He was an angry person…sometimes. He had a temper. A really, really bad temper," she said shortly, refusing to look at Harry. "Yes, you could say he was a criminal."

"Was?" Was this the proper way to describe anything Anthony had done? Past tense?

"He's dead."

And with that, Hermione stood up, waved a lazy good-bye to him – it was better than the old departures with non-existent communication – and walked to the girls' dormitories. Harry sat there, left behind, staring into the fireplace as though it would explain what had just happened. Anthony had been like Hermione's guardian, even though he'd been a criminal…he had looked out for her…. Did she not care that he was a criminal? Had he really just been a good, misunderstood person?

Harry knew that Hermione wasn't the nicest person towards those she disliked, but he hadn't expected her to have gone so far as jumping off a building – risking her life, really – in order to hurt someone. She was always on constant vigilance for any eavesdroppers and "other things", as she'd said…harmful things? People who'd hurt her? Even when they were friends, she'd only tell him so much. Hermione had lost her best friend, but didn't cry…she didn't show any type of sadness…or at least, she escaped before she could; she was the last person Harry would expect to reveal any sort of emotion.

He wondered what made her that way.

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**Author's Note:** Again, sorry for this chapter being so late. Thanks for sticking with me, you guys, I really do appreciate it! I hope you enjoyed the chapter and I'll get the next update out as soon as possible :)


	13. Quidditch Aftermath

**Author's Note:** This is a little late because I was on vacation. Now I'm back and with a tan, so let's continue this freaking confusing story of mine. I've switched around the timeline of PoA a little bit, so don't freak out when I've skipped to this event. The original timeline just didn't work for me. So I tweaked it a little bit and it'll help the plot. I hope.

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How to Love

_Chapter Thirteen: Quidditch Aftermath_

When Harry first woke up, he didn't know where he was or why he was there. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened, so he convinced himself to remain still and just calm down. For a few silent moments, he kept his eyes closed as his brain tried to figure out what had happened, but it hurt too much. Everything hurt. His back had several knots, his legs felt as though they'd been bend to odd proportions, and had someone given him a bloody concussion or something, because the headache and confusion he felt was unbelievable. He also felt…cold. It was the dreadful cold that took away smiles, laughter, and any hope that he'd ever have. His aching bones felt the chill.

Dementors. The Quidditch game – or what Harry had experienced of it, at least – came back to him…the Dementors closing in on him…the cold…the sound of a woman screaming….

He felt a pressure against his feet and wondered if he was being pulled to the ground by gravity again, to relive the scene at the Quidditch pitch. Then the pressure, which had been moving his feet side to side, stopped when he opened his eyes to a brightly lit ceiling…it was too bright, way too bright, and his eyes burned and his head ached…then he heard a voice saying "He needs sleep", and even though it was a hushed tone, it was far too loud for his ears to handle; if they were any louder, he might've become deaf…but then he was falling back asleep before he could register who it was. This happened several times, although he didn't know the intervals of time were exactly, because time was either frozen or speeding. He was in a hazy state, not knowing if he was awake or asleep, constantly being disturbed from dreams that involved him just been woken up minutes ago.

Each time Harry saw the brightly lit ceiling that burned his eyes, he felt stronger. Not physically stronger, because pain still raged through him just as much and his eyes were impossible to open after a while, but mentally stronger. He was able to think…sort of. He was still confused, but he felt as though the dizziness was not nearly as bad when he heard someone's voice and finally knew who was speaking. Ron. Feeling a sense of reality, a sense that the Dementors hadn't killed him or taken his soul or whatever those creatures did, Harry would've sighed with relief if it didn't hurt to breathe as it was.

"But he's gonna be okay, right?"

"Of course," another voice said. Dumbledore. Dumbledore? "I believe he's lucky to even be here."

"Move, move," the unmistakable voice of Madam Pomfrey said. There was a shuffling of footsteps obeying her orders. "You too, Miss Granger."

Another pair of footsteps moved. Wait. Miss Granger? Hermione. Hermione was here? What? Harry wanted to ask if that really was her, or if this headache was just making it seem like she was there…. But it hurt to move. He was too sleepy, too, as though he'd missed out on days of slumber by laboring and now finally had the opportunity to fall asleep. The attention, though, that the people around him had taken from him was almost unfair. He struggled to stay awake and still, against everything his body was telling him.

"Harry?"

It wasn't Hermione. It was Ginny. Or at least he thought it was Ginny. No, it was definitely Ginny. The high-pitched tone in her voice was unmistakable. Harry almost didn't want to answer to her…not like he could, anyways.

"Why isn't he answering me?" Ginny demanded.

"Because he's asleep, genius," Ron snapped. "When are you gonna wake him up next?" he asked moments later, although whether or not he was talking to Ginny that time, Harry was unsure. What he was sure of, however, was that he really _had_ been waking up. It wasn't all one continuous, confusing dream. Who was waking him up, then, and why

"I think he might be staying like this for a few hours at this rate," Madam Pomfrey said, "_if_ he wasn't continually being woken up every time I turn my back." Her footsteps moved closer to Harry and he nervously remained still as she leaned over him to place a palm on his forehead. Harry never really understood what this could do, but it seemed like good enough evidence. The heat of her hand burned at his cold skin. He felt her take her hand away quickly, as though she'd sensed the coldness of his own skin. "He's very cold, Albus."

"Dementors tend to have that effect on people," Dumbledore replied.

Harry would've laughed darkly if his ribs wouldn't have broken from it. They already felt broken.

"Maybe it's time he learned proper defenses against Dementors," a new voice said. Harry was disappointed when, after hearing the first word spoken, that it wasn't Hermione. She might as well have not been there. _Was_ she even there? "I could teach him," Professor Lupin continued.

There was a way to defend himself against Dementors? Why hadn't he been taught this before? Why hadn't the whole _school_ been taught this?

"That's very advanced magic," the nurse noted. Harry felt the thin blanket that covered him be covered by another blanket, and the added warmth was unbelievable.

"Harry is certainly capable," Dumbledore said slowly. "I think that's a good idea, Remus. Come to my office, we'll discuss this further. And Poppy isn't to speak about this to anyone."

Madam Pomfrey must've nodded, showing that she'd keep her lips sealed, because there were two pairs of footsteps – or at least, Harry thought there were two, it was hard to count – that became quieter until a door opened and closed, then they were gone. He was confused. Was he going to learn how to finally protect himself from Dementors, or was this all just in theory? Figuring he'd find out soon enough, he remained still and waited for the pain to go away, or for someone to speak, or for him to be able to think properly without being downright confused.

"Have you given him something for the pain?" Ginny asked. That sounded like a good idea.

"He's asleep, he can't feel a thing," Madam Pomfrey said, and Harry wished he could move enough for her to realize that he was definitely _not_ knocked out anymore.

"No," a new voice said. It was rough. Hermione? But at the same time, the voice was shaky…how could it have been Hermione? Her voice had never been like this before.

"I'm sorry?" The nurse's annoyed voice cracked.

"He's conscious," Hermione said. Harry didn't know what made her know that, but he was thankful…and besides, his question was answered when she continued speaking in that odd shaky voice. "He probably just can't move because.…" She stopped talking then, and Harry didn't know why. This confusion was going to be the death of him.

Ron noted, "Well, he wasn't woken up again."

"Harry?" Ginny asked, and for a split second he was no longer thankful for Hermione's knack for noticing everything. He felt weight shift on the side of the bed; she was leaning over him. "Harry, can you hear me?"

"Help the pain," Hermione's shaky voice said.

Surprisingly, the nurse obeyed, even though there was no "please". Perhaps the shaky voice was having some sort of persuasive effect on people, which confused Harry even more. After about a minute of frantic footsteps going from her office and back to his hospital bed, he felt a cup press against his lips, and as a disgusting drink poured down his throat, he struggled to swallow it.

"He _is_ conscious!" Ginny squealed, as though he was on his death bed and he had made a miraculous recovery.

"Alright, let him be," Madam Pomfrey said. "He needs rest."

The effects of whatever he'd just drank were slowly beginning to sink in as he heard the voices of Ron and Ginny say their goodbyes; Ginny was less than happy to be leaving him. His headache was fading away and the back pain wasn't as bad anymore. Breathing wasn't so difficult. Maybe he would be able to open his eyes and not be blinded by the ceiling.

"You too," the nurse added, shuffling over to the foot of his bed. But nobody moved. After a few moments, she then said, "Well, if you must…." Madam Pomfrey's footsteps became quieter until he heard her office door open and close.

Who was it? Was it Hermione? He hadn't heard her say goodbye, but then again, she wasn't really that type. There was an agonizing silence, and Harry waited for the pain reliever to relieve the bloody pain already. He strained to listen for any evidence of who was still there, beside his hospital bed, refusing to leave him. Finally, after a few minutes, Harry felt pain-free enough to open his eyes – the ceiling was lit, but it didn't burn his eyes this time, thankfully – and stretch his arms.

It was Hermione. She was standing at the foot of the hospital bed, holding onto a railing there with hands several shades whiter than her usual pale skin. Her face, too, was very white. Her shoulders were relaxing, but from what, Harry didn't know. Her clothes were damp, from the horrendous rain outside, no doubt. Her eyes weren't puffy or bloodshot, but he hadn't expected them to be. They were just wide, staring back at him in shock as though she never thought he'd finally _really_ wake up.

"Hey," she said, confirming that her voice really _was_ shaky, and that his headache hadn't just been playing tricks on him. "You really can't stay out of trouble, can you?"

Harry chuckled, and it didn't even hurt his ribs. Despite the odd tone of her voice, she was still very Hermione-like. It was nice. "What happened?" he asked. He only knew what occurred at the game up until he passed out in the air, hurling towards Earth, away from the Dementors.

Hermione's hands became a lighter shade of white, if that was even possible. "You fell."

"How badly?"

She nodded in his direction. "You would know," she told him, her eyes tearing away from him. When he didn't say anything, she continued. "You…you fell fifty feet."

Harry struggled to find words. Fifty feet? He _fell_ fifty feet? "How did I even – even _survive_ that? I mean, that's…that's…."

He thought his headache was coming back to play mind tricks on him when the corners of Hermione's mouth twitch upward for a second. "I think Dumbledore slowed you down in mid-air," she said thoughtfully, looking back at him and shrugging. She became Hermione again when she added, "And man, he was _pissed_."

Harry only laughed for a little bit until an awful realization hit him. The team. The game. "But…what about the match? What happened?"

"Gryffindor lost," she said plainly. It was clear that Quidditch wasn't her first priority. "The other guy from Hufflepuff caught the snitch before he realized what happened."

Dread took over, replacing the physical pain he'd felt only minutes ago. He tugged at his hair and locked his jaw shut. Hermione didn't say anything, which, for once he didn't actually mind. She didn't how much Quidditch meant to him. After a few minutes of making himself feel miserable, just because he deserved it for costing his team mates the game, he sat up straight and muttered, "Thanks for, er, telling Madam Pomfrey to give me something for the pain."

Hermione nodded, biting her lip and not looking at him. She still didn't let go of the railing at the foot of his bed. She just continued to hold onto it as though it were her lifeline.

"Hermione?"

She turned to face him. "Hmm?"

"How did you know that I was conscious?" he asked, slightly concerned.

"Oh," she said, letting out a sigh of relief, like his question was a piece of cake compared to what she thought he'd say. "Your breathing was incredibly uneven."

"You were paying attention to my breathing?"

Hermione didn't laugh at the obscenity of it; she just bit her lip and continued to look at him. "You had concussion," she told him. Her voice wasn't as casual as it always was. It wasn't the plain tone she used when saying someone tried to kill her, and that Anthony had died, and that she was an orphan. His heart raced as he looked at her to continue. And she did. "I thought you were going into a coma or you were going to – well, you know," she said, and they both knew what the "you know" was covering up for, "any minute, so of course I was checking your breathing. When it became alarmingly deep I woke you up, which was about every ten minutes. It got Madam Pomfrey really angry, because she said that her methods of healing were fine and I was being ridiculous."

Harry got a mental image of Hermione just sitting there, quiet around everyone else, only speaking to rid him of his pain, monitoring the rhythm of his breathing and waking him up when she thought he was going into a coma, or, well, "you know". It was a Hermione that he had never imagined before.

He managed to choke out, "I don't think you were being ridiculous." He thought she was being a good friend. A good, caring friend, who was watching over him, making sure nothing happened while everyone else showed their feelings through words. She showed hers through actions.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Very short chapter, yes, but I already know what the next chapter is about, so I guess that's promising. In a way. Maybe. Sorry if Harry's thoughts all over the place confused you. The kid _did_ have a concussion, after all. And sorry if my symptoms of a concussion were off…I researched a little and remembered when my dad got a concussion, but I've never had first-hand experience, so I'm still a little hazy on the topic. God, I feel like I'm always apologizing to you guys about something.


	14. Expecto Patronum

**Author's Note:** Hi. Please don't kill me that this is late, or that it's short, or that it's crappy. I only have an excuse for the reason it's late: I'm back in high school, which means I'm extremely busy. The other two things, about this being short and crappy, I don't really have valid excuses for. I guess I just suck at this. The updates may not be as frequent (if they were ever frequent in the first place…), but please do not think that I'm suddenly giving up on you guys. Plus, at the same time I'm working on new stories that will be out…eventually. Check my blog (link in my profile page) for details. Alright, shameless plug time is over. Enjoy :)

**Disclaimer:** I do not, nor will I ever, own Harry Potter. This story is purely for the entertainment of myself and readers and I'm not getting paid for this. I think that pretty much covers it.

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How to Love

_Chapter Fourteen: Expecto Patronum_

Harry was pretty sure that Hermione was almost back to normal when she said, "You and your excuses need to get out of my way," to an apologizing Cedric Diggory.

"But really, I'm sorry, there should be a rematch, I should've noticed what was going on before I caught the Snitch –"

"Oh, life isn't fair, now _move_!" Hermione yelled, shoving him aside rather than using magic.

Harry sent a sympathetic look to Cedric as Hermione dragged him away, but Cedric wasn't even looking at him.

"Hermione, he was just apologizing," Harry told her quietly.

"I understand a quick apology, but it got annoying by the fifth time he said he was sorry," she said. "Cedric Diggory's stupidly charming smile will not work on me."

Harry muffled a laugh as they walked through a few corridors on their way back to the Gryffindor common room. Hermione had just gotten him out of the hospital wing, even though Madam Pomfrey insisted he "absolutely _needed_ rest". Hermione cared about his health, of course, but even she had limits after a few hours of him being perfectly fine.

"The pain's gone and the concussion's passed. You're fine, I promise. Trust me," Hermione had said to him as she led him out of the hospital wing. It was the first time she'd ever said "trust me" with meaning behind it. And for some reason, he found himself nodding and following her.

"Oh, great," she said now as they turned around a corner.

Ron and Ginny were walking briskly towards them, in the direction of the hospital wing behind Harry and Hermione.

"Harry!" Ginny squealed.

She ran over to him and threw her arms around him, as though he'd just been saved from a burning building. Harry saw Hermione glare darkly at Ginny through the corner of his eye.

"We were worried, so we came back to get you," she continued. Ginny turned and saw Hermione as she pulled away from him and added, "She didn't leave after us?"

"Special permission to stay, I suppose" Hermione told her coldly.

Ginny said something, but it was muffled by Ron walking over and patting Harry on the back.

"Alright, then?" Ron asked, gritting his teeth and glancing at Hermione every few seconds.

"Fine," Harry answered shortly.

There was a tension in the air that Harry was sure nobody liked. He didn't like Hermione against Ron and Ginny and vice versa, and he didn't want to choose sides, either, so he just kept walking and they followed. Well, most of them did. Hermione caught up with him and didn't let herself fall even a half a step behind him.

"So, we're heading back to the common room?" Ginny asked from behind him.

Harry nodded. "Yeah. I wanna let the team know I haven't died or anything."

He could've sworn he heard Hermione let out something like a laugh. The four of them walked, once in a while making conversation, but for the most part, they were silent. Only the sound of their footsteps let Harry know that Ron and Ginny were still behind him.

"What the _hell_?" Hermione said, and that was probably the phrase that was going through all of their heads when they approaching the door to the Gryffindor Tower.

There was a crowd of Gryffindors waiting outside of the portrait, but all of them stood where they were, moving their heads over others to get a better glimpse of the portrait. The Fat Lady had never been particularly interesting, so Harry wondered why nobody was going into the common room.

Ron and Ginny remained where they were, but Hermione immediately walked into the crowd, expertly sliding her way through. Harry followed her just out of curiosity, and they got up to the front of everyone.

"Well, that's why we can't get in," Hermione said casually, as though it was just a minor problem, like a locked door.

She seemed to be the only person who could find their voice. Everyone else just stared from her and to the portrait. It was empty. The Fat Lady was nowhere to be seen. There were slashes across the canvas and small pieces of it were falling to the ground. The sight made Harry's stomach drop.

"Someone needs to get Dumbledore," Harry said, being the second person in the group to speak. He turned around expectantly, and a few people parted from the crowd, obeying him.

Hermione walked closer to the portrait and actually touched the canvas that was left there. Harry made his way towards her in order to stop her, because seeing her next to the ripped portrait made him nervous.

"Hermione, back up –"

"Whoever – or _whatever_ – did this isn't coming back through the door or something," she said, tearing her eyes from the portrait and back to him for a moment. "He, or she, or it obviously didn't make it into the tower. They were just angry because the Fat Lady wouldn't let them in. That's why they attacked her. They wanted to get into the Gryffindor Tower."

A few students shuddered. One of them gasped.

"How do you know this?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow. He was surprised she'd get all of this just from the slices made in the canvas.

"Well, nobody attacked her because they didn't like her singing voice," Hermione told him in a near whisper so only he and the few students behind him could hear. "Harry, whoever wanted to get in here was after someone."

Just then, the crowd parted automatically and Professor Dumbledore emerged from the sea of students. "Harry, Hermione, please step back," he told them, and they obeyed and rejoined the crowd.

Professors Lupin and McGonagall walked up behind them, staring at the canvas in horror. Dumbledore looked around at nearby portraits and asked, "Has anyone seen her? The Fat Lady?"

Everyone shook their heads in unison.

"Get Mr. Filch to look, and let the other houses know what's happened. I want everyone to stay in the Great Hall tonight," Dumbledore told McGonagall, who nodded and walked off, turning her head back over her shoulder for a few last glimpses before disappearing down a staircase.

"I think I know who it was," Hermione said in the same near whisper.

Dumbledore turned to face her with raised eyebrows. "Go on."

"Sir, I –" she stuttered, looking from Harry to the portrait and then back to Dumbledore. "I think it was Sirius Black."

Something got caught in Harry's throat as Dumbledore looked grimly at Professor Lupin, who looked just as grim. He could hear the whispers of the students behind him, who heard Hermione and were now in the process of letting everyone else know what she had said. The murmurs of the name "Sirius Black" clutched Harry's racing heart and made his stomach drop even further.

"Prefects, please send everyone to the Great Hall," Dumbledore said after clearing his throat. There was a shuffle within the crowd and everyone turned their backs to walk to the Great Hall.

Percy Weasley's voice was loud as he shouted at people, "Head Boy here! Follow me!"

"Remus, Harry, and Hermione, please follow me," the headmaster said just before Harry and Hermione turned with the crowd of students.

Harry wasn't sure where they were going, but wherever it was, he hoped they weren't in trouble for being too close to the portrait. He couldn't imagine why that would be a punishable offense, but his heart still raced as they made their way past confused students from other houses who were being hastily ushered into the Great Hall.

Again, Hermione was sure to not be a step behind Harry. Her face was impressively calm, as though they were simply taking a small walk through the school and not being lured to possible punishment. Harry tried to mimic her expression but failed; every time he saw Dumbledore whisper to Lupin, his stomach twisted and his face surely looked panicked.

"Where do you think we're going?" Harry whispered to Hermione.

"Professor Lupin's office," she replied immediately.

"But how can you be so sure?" was what Harry was about to say when they turned the corner and approached Lupin's office. So, instead, he said, "Oh."

After following the headmaster and professor into the office – filled with things that were nearly as interesting as the objects in Dumbledore's office – Harry was almost certain that they were in trouble.

"Professor, we –" he began, but Dumbledore raised one finger to silence him.

"Hermione, you believe Sirius Black was trying to get into the castle, yes?"

Hermione nodded, the calm expression still upon her face. "Sir, I can't imagine who else would try to get into the Gryffindor common room. The only thing that threw me off a bit was that the marks look almost animalistic. And, sir, I think…I think that Sirius was trying to go after Harry."

Harry had heard what she'd said about how Sirius Black was after Harry, but for the second time that day, he felt something get caught in his throat. He didn't say a word – he couldn't even if he wanted to – when Dumbledore inclined his head gravely.

"I believe you," he told her.

Hermione nodded, not smiling at the recognition that she was believed; it wasn't the greatest thing to be correct on.

"I will be notifying the rest of the teachers about this," Dumbledore continued, lifting his head to look at her without the twinkle in his eye. "I ask that you do not tell your other friends about this until a search has begun. There's enough panic as it is. The castle will be undergoing a search –"

"Friends," Hermione said with a soft, hollow laugh so quietly that Dumbledore and Professor Lupin could not hear her.

Harry looked down at his knees, feeling more uncomfortable by the minute.

"—and the Dementors will be more eager than ever now that we feel Sirius Black is making more extreme attempts to enter Hogwarts. Remus and I –" he gestured towards Lupin, whose gaze was on Harry, "—have decided that both of you should learn how to defend yourselves against the Dementors. It's for the best."

Both Harry and Hermione looked up at Dumbledore with incredulous expressions playing across their features.

"Really?" Harry asked hopefully.

He was going to _finally_ learn how to defend himself against the Dementors…he wouldn't have to worry about being attacked during another Quidditch game…. He looked over to Hermione, whose incredulous expression had turned to a quizzical one. She didn't seem as thrilled as he was.

"Wouldn't that be magic too advanced for us? Or me, at least?" Hermione asked with a fleeting glance towards Harry that he didn't understand.

"With some practice, I – well, we – think it's possible," Lupin said, finally speaking aloud to them.

"Professor Lupin will be teaching you," Dumbledore said, smiling slightly and nodding towards Lupin. "You will be using his office, since there's been a boggart lurking in one of the wardrobes."

"A boggart?" Harry asked, partially for his sake, and partially for Hermione's. He didn't need to look at her to know her reaction to this.

"I've been told that your boggart turns into a Dementor," Dumbledore elaborated. "As long as you stay closest to the wardrobe where the boggart is hiding, then I'm sure it will not turn into anything else."

- - -

Hermione was staring at the wardrobe blankly, making sure that she was at least a foot behind Harry.

"_Expecto patronum_?" she asked for confirmation, although Harry had heard her mutter it under her breath as practice for the past two minutes.

"Yes," Lupin said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "And remember to think about the happiest memory you have."

Hermione looked at the ground thoughtfully and Lupin asked, "Have you got a memory?"

"Kind of," she said, nodding and facing towards the wardrobe with a now blazing, determined look.

"Are you ready, too, Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry said half-heartedly. "Yeah, I'm ready."

A huge part of him regretted saying this, because when the wardrobe was opened and the Dementor glided out of it, the whole world froze to absolute zero. It was too cold…

For a few seconds, Harry heard nothing and thought that he could clear his head for a moment to shout the incantation, but then he heard the screams that he'd been haunted with from the first day he encountered the Dementor on the Hogwarts Express…

"_Not Harry! No…please…." _

The temperature got even colder as Harry realized who was screaming…the pleads chilled his bones and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight…

"_E-Expecto patronum!_" he shouted, wanting the screams to leave, "_Expecto patronum!"_

_Think of something happy_, he thought to himself, fighting through the screams. He imagined when he rode a broomstick for the first time…it was a hopeful light that burst through the chilling misery he'd been plunged into, but as he screamed the incantation, only a small wisp escaped from the tip of his wand. It was too cold….

"Well, you did better than I thought you would," Lupin's voice said, although Harry hadn't opened his eyes to clearly see him. "Here, have some chocolate."

Harry was forced to open his eyes this time, and when he did, there was a bar of chocolate right in front of him. He hadn't realized how shaky his hands were until he tried to get a firm grip on the bar. He took a small bite and a wonderful, welcoming warmth spread through him.

"Thanks," he said in a voice that was just as shaky as his hands. "T-That silver wisp of smoke…is that supposed to h-happen?"

"Somewhat," Lupin told him with a small smile. "A corporeal Patronus –"

"A what?" he asked, taking another bite of the chocolate.

"Fully-formed Patronus. They're the strongest form. A small wisp might hold off a Dementor for a few seconds."

Harry's heart sank. Lupin seemed to notice this, because he said, "At least you managed to do something. Hermione did too, didn't you, Hermione?"

Harry turned so quickly that he nearly dropped the bar of chocolate in his hand. For a moment, he'd forgotten Hermione was there. His jaw was fighting to drop to the floor at the sight of her. She was staring at nothing in particular with a blank look on her face. Her bottom lip was trembling and she nodded hesitantly, though not looking at either of them.

He wondered why she was having this reaction now, but didn't have the same reaction on the Hogwarts Express…had she recovered quickly then? Maybe, Harry thought, the fact that she was dreading the Dementor added to the effect it had on her….

"Here – more chocolate," Lupin said earnestly, carefully walking over to her and handing her more than half of the chocolate that he had in his hands. "Eat up."

Hermione nodded again, looking more distant than ever as she took small bites from the bar of chocolate but otherwise taking no note of anything around her.

"She'll be alright," the Professor said when he saw the look on Harry's face. "Just a little shaken up. The chocolate will help."

"A _little_ shaken up?" Harry asked, hesitantly moving his gaze to Lupin. "Professor, maybe she should go to the hospital wing –"

"I'm fine," a rough voice said; it took a moment to register that it was Hermione's. It was the first time she'd spoken since the encounter with the boggart. She still wasn't looking at them, but Harry thought that her capability of speech was certainly something of an improvement. "I'm fine," she repeated.

"I know you are," Lupin said softly. "Eat some more chocolate and you'll be even better. I think that's enough for one day, we can try some other time."

Harry would have protested, saying that he'd have another go, that maybe the silver wisp would be stronger the second time, but for Hermione's sake, he did not argue with Professor Lupin.

Just then, the door to the office slammed open. To add to the dread surrounding the room, Snape walked in. "The Headmaster would like all of the teachers to search the castle. You're not an exception, you know." Then with a glare at Lupin and Harry, Snape turned and stormed out of the office, his black robes swiftly behind him.

Lupin stood up and shifted his gaze from Hermione to Harry. "Do you think you'll be okay with her? I could help but – er –"

"Yeah, it's fine," Harry said, moving over towards Hermione so that he was sitting right next to her, to her left.

"Make sure she eats all of that," the Professor said, pointing to the rest of the chocolate before he sent him a reassuring smile and headed out of the office.

"Hermione?" Harry asked warily.

"I told you, I'm fine," she replied in a shaky voice.

Finally, Hermione broke her gaze from whatever she'd been staring at blankly and turned to face him.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

She tucked a few pieces of stray hand behind her left ear. "Yeah, I'm fine."

There were a few minutes of silence where Hermione ate the rest of the chocolate – Harry didn't realize she could eat that quickly – and Harry stared at the ground. When she was down to the last small bar of chocolate, she asked the question he somehow knew she was going to bring up: "What did you relive?"

Shrugging, as though it wasn't a big deal, Harry said, "My parents' deaths…especially my mum's…her screaming…." He'd never told anyone this, not even Ron.

Hermione nodded, although a frown was added to her expression.

"What did _you_ relive?" Harry asked tentatively. _Maybe it would help her_, he tried to convince himself, _if she talked about it_.

She shook her head.

"I told you mine," he told her.

Sighing, Hermione looked down at her feet. "I h-heard my own mum dying, just like how I heard her on the Express…only I didn't know it was her then, but it had to have been…on the E-Express, Professor Lupin showed up and scared off the Dementors before I could hear more, but this time…this time I heard Anthony…and other things," she said shakily. Then Hermione looked over at him and put her head on his shoulder. Not knowing exactly why, Harry put his arm around her. It was the only thing that he thought of to comfort her.

She added, in the softest voice he'd ever heard from her, "Harry, I don't like Dementors."

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**Author's Note: **Sorry that this chapter sucks. Except for the ending, of course...I mean, she put her head on his shoulder, and he put his arm around her. You guys love that stuff.


	15. That Someone Was You

**Author's Note:** Hello. Well, I might seriously piss some people off by saying that this is like the last chapter. I had originally planned on panning out the story until the end of their school year, but seeing as the focus here is not really on the whole "omfg Sirius Black wants to kill Harry" angle, I don't need to painfully draw out the storyline until they rescue Sirius. So we're closing things up. I felt, as the author of this story, that it was necessary to finally wrap things up because otherwise I'd be beating a dead horse and you guys would get annoyed. You might be annoyed already at my decision, but by the end of the chapter hopefully you'll understand the pace at which all the major questions will be answered.

Also, on a different note that might make you hate me less, be prepared for a new story to come out soon-ish (obviously HHr, and it's AU, too). I'm really excited about it :)

This last chapter is so delayed because I'm participating in NaNoWriMo, which stands for National Novel Writing Month. Basically, the challenge is to write a 50,000 word novel in a month. So you can see how that takes away my time. And sanity.

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How to Love

_Chapter Fifteen: That Someone Was You_

"Here's some more chocolate," Harry offered, handing the rest of his chocolate over to the pale-faced Hermione.

She nodded silently in thanks and took the chocolate, then ate it slowly but gratefully, keeping a hollow stare focused on the closed wardrobe where the boggart was residing. Her hands were shaking as she held the bar of chocolate.

Lupin's jaw was clenched tightly and he took a seat a few feet away from them at a small desk. "We could stop," he insisted from the desk. "Both of you are doing very well."

Harry had certainly improved; he didn't hear his parents' deaths as often when the boggart – disguised as a Dementor – appeared from the wardrobe, and although the air was still frozen when it was around, he'd managed to think of the few happiest moments of his life that fought against it. While he wasn't proud of himself just yet, when he looked at how both of them were doing, Harry was admittedly the better one at the Patronus charm.

Hermione had also improved. She managed to produce a decent Patronus Charm when the boggart came her way. Yet she hadn't done as well as Harry…. While she remained strong for the first several rounds, she always struggled near the end of each lesson. The Dementors weakened her, and so Lupin still kept a huge supply of chocolate bars at her side. He had told her that it was unlikely for her to have to fight off Dementors one by one for an hour, so that kept her confidence up enough to keep showing up for lessons. However, she'd always stare at the wardrobe after every lesson with a face paler than usual and wide, haunted eyes that made her chocolate brown eyes turn to ice, as though the Dementors had frozen that part of her, too. She never told Harry what she'd seen or heard, but it was enough to knock her down and make her go faint after too many encounters with the boggart.

"No, I want to try again," Hermione said weakly, not turning to look at him. "Please, Professor, I can do this."

"I think we should stop," Harry told her, handing her another bar of chocolate that she took mutely.

"No," she protested in that same weak voice. "No, I can do it, I really can."

"We know you can," Lupin said quietly, "and we can try again tomorrow." Then he turned to Harry and nudged his head towards the door, motioning that Harry was to escort her out.

"I saw that," Hermione said.

Harry shrugged at a confused Lupin and grabbed Hermione's arm to help her up. She only half-carried herself up, which left the rest of the small amount of weight her body held up to Harry to carry, which didn't take much effort even if it was partially dead weight.

"Let's go back to the common room," Harry said softly.

Hermione didn't look at him as he helped her out of the room. Lupin said, "Watch after her, Harry," after them, to which Harry nodded to show that he had heard him.

They were halfway down the corridor, Hermione weakly at his side, when she collapsed. His grip on her loosened completely as she fell to the floor with a soft, yet somehow deafening, thud.

"Hermione!" Harry screamed after her, kneeling beside her and shaking her shoulder because it was the only thing he could think of to do.

He looked around, as though waiting for a conveniently placed Healer was going to appear out of nowhere. But it turned out that no Healer was needed, because Hermione began to stir seconds later and tried to sit upright, wincing and holding the side of her head tenderly. Harry silently helped her lean against the wall at the edge of the corridor.

"Are you alright?" he asked breathlessly as she winced again, still not looking at him.

"Oh, I'm fine," she said quietly and in a much weaker voice.

"Do you want to go to the Hospital Wing to get checked out?"

Hermione shook her head, which seemed to be a bad idea on her part, since she inhaled deeply and let out a small, "Ouch," that made Harry want to carry her to the Hospital Wing, even if she'd protest the whole way there.

"You don't look so good," he observed.

He lifted one hand and tenderly touched the spot on her head that collided with the floor. She winced but didn't push him away. There wasn't a bump there yet, but Harry wouldn't have been surprised if one appeared later on. He put his hand back on his knee as he sat beside her.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked again.

"Yeah, I've fallen from worse heights," she told him weakly.

"I don't mean from that."

He could tell from her widening eyes and parting lips that she understood exactly what he had meant.

"What do you see and hear when the boggart goes near you?" Harry asked quietly, trying to sound as sincere as possible; the last thing he wanted was to scare her away. It bothered him that he didn't know what she was forced to relive when the Dementors were nearby.

There was a still silence for a few moments, where Hermione finally turned to look at him and he looked right back at her. She finally sighed and bit her lip, then said, in a shaky voice, "I hear…I hear a lot of things. One of them sounds is my mum screaming."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but she added, "I know, the only time I would've heard her was the day I was born, and I wouldn't have remembered that, but…but I know that it _must_ be her. And it's horrible…because I killed her, Harry."

"No you didn't," he said immediately. "Don't blame yourself."

"She died from childbirth," Hermione said, shaking her head. "She died from giving birth to me. How could I not blame myself? She probably came from the sound background that I did. No doctors around to save her…."

"The same background, with no doctors?" Harry asked. "What do you mean? Why – why wouldn't there have been doctors around?"

"Because if she came from the same background," Hermione explained slowly, in a voice weaker and shakier than ever, "then she must've grown up homeless."

Homeless? Harry wasn't sure that he had heard right at first, but then he saw Hermione's weak, half-opened eyes and her trembling bottom lip that she wasn't lying, and that he had heard her clearly.

"Oh," was all he could manage to say, because just imagining a Hermione living on the streets without a home or parents to care for her, was enough to constrict his throat and prevent him from really saying anything.

Hermione looked down at the ground of the corridor and added, "I didn't want you to know at first, but…it's nice to just…to tell someone, you know?" so casually that it nearly broke his heart in two.

"Yeah, I suppose," he said, thankful that his voice was loosening now that Hermione didn't look like she wanted to be pitied now that she'd revealed a major part of her background; she began to compose herself…her bottom lip remained still and her eyes were more alert. Even her voice was less shaky.

"Maybe I shouldn't have told you," she said, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

"No, no, I'm glad you did," he said urgently.

Hermione nodded slowly, turning back to stare at the floor again. "Since my dad passed before I was born I don't hear both my parents, which is what you hear…I couldn't imagine that. Then again, my parents weren't married, so I'm not sure about how good or bad their relationship was...if they would've raised me together. They had different last names, according to that family tree."

"What – I mean – how did you survive without your mum around?" Harry asked as tentatively as possible.

"Raised by different homeless families," Hermione said indifferently. Then she continued, as though in a fixated trance: "A young couple living around the Underground taught me to read and write when I was about seven, and I stuck around long enough to learn math and all that other school rubbish when I was eight. I had a knack for math and science, so I became a tutor when I was ten. Then I could provide for myself once I cleaned up my appearance and got a well-paying job as a tutor for kids my age. You wouldn't _believe_ how much some families will pay."

"So you were off on your own when you were ten?" Harry asked, shocked and trying to absorb all of this at once.

Hermione nodded, wincing again at the pain her head had endured just a few minutes ago.

"But – how?"

This time, she shrugged. "Just focused on surviving, really. I mean, I had enough money from tutoring to buy food and some clothes, but that alone couldn't keep me alive."

"Why not?" Harry asked, although he felt shamefully naïve when she shot him a look.

"Well, lack of shelter, for one thing. It rains practically every bloody day in England, which isn't good when Underground security kicks you out and you're constantly outside," Hermione said. "And other homeless people can be very dangerous at times. But after living like that, you get used to defending yourself. You get used to everything. You just have to adapt."

Harry wasn't sure what to say, but words weren't really needed as Hermione rested her head on his shoulder, just as she had done just a few weeks ago. Her right arm reached around and her hand grasped his right arm.

"But now I've adapted to this." He knew that by "this", she meant the magical world. "I can't imagine going back. I don't _want_ to go back. I'd probably be killed."

"Wait – _what_?" Harry blurted out, separating himself from her to look at her directly, yet she was still holding on to him.

"Out there, on the streets, they have their own justice system," she said quietly. "And I did something the others aren't too happy with. That was why Professor Dumbledore and I went back to where I had stayed for a few days, so that maybe we could straighten things out. It didn't really work…."

Harry raised one eyebrow and felt his heart begin to pound faster. "What did you do to make them so angry?"

She bit her lip and closed her eyes for a moment or two. She pursed her lips and parted them, over and over again, as though internally debating whether or not to even speak. In the end, she did finally talk.

"Well, I've been wanting to tell _someone_…the guilt has been eating me alive…someone who didn't know, someone besides Professor Dumbledore and Professor Lupin," she said slowly. "You know how I told you that Anthony was dead?"

He nodded, remembering the moment she told him this and walked away.

"Well, I…Harry, I killed him."

Harry felt himself moving further away from her with his heart racing even faster and his hands shaking. "You _what_?" All this time, she had _killed_ him?

"By accident!" she pleaded. "By accident – by magic, when I didn't know how to use it! This is why I don't trust people, because then I end up telling them everything and – Harry, I didn't mean to!"

"By magic?" Harry repeated, no longer moving away from her but not daring to shorten the distance between Hermione and himself. "What do you mean?"

Hermione was breathing heavily when she said, "Anthony was about our age, a couple years older, but he'd already gotten into the habit of drinking alcohol – from his father, you see…and he'd get really mad…and I mean _really_ mad…and once time, he came at me and – and he tried to strangle me using rope."

She then gestured to her neck, where Harry had remembered the mysterious – or, no longer mysterious anymore – line circling her throat. So that was how it happened….

"And then," she continued in a breathless and shaky voice, as though she was being attacked all over again, "I wasn't even sure what happened. The rope released me and went back on him and…and I had no idea what had happened. Moments later, though, Professor Dumbledore showed up and told me everything. And that's why I'm so determined to learn everything I can about magic…so that I can control my powers. So that I don't hurt anyone anymore."

Then she looked at him and in that moment, her normally hardened features softened and her eyes were warm and her cheeks were flushed and she looked like a different person. "So now you know."

As she looked back down at the floor, Harry found himself moving back to her side and she automatically returned her head back to his shoulder, which was where it seemed to belong. She kept looking at the floor for a long time…Harry wasn't even sure how long they were waiting there in the corridor, remaining very still beside each other.

So she'd told him everything. Out of all the possibilities he had thought of, he'd never really thought of her being homeless. He felt more protective of her than ever now, and every little noise in corridors beyond theirs made him pull her closer to him, which she surprisingly didn't seem to mind. He didn't ever want her to go back to living without a roof above her head. He didn't want her going anywhere, really.

While Harry hadn't grown up with the greatest childhood either, he couldn't possibly imagine a life like hers. He'd hated living in a cupboard, but it was better than no cupboard at all. He hadn't enjoyed living with the Dursleys, but at least they kept him alive, whereas all Hermione had ever thought about was survival.

"Harry," Hermione said softly after what seemed like forever.

"Hermione," he said back expectantly.

"I've never met anyone like you, you know that?"

Harry turned to face her but didn't pull away. He could see every freckle under her warm brown eyes and across her small nose.

"What do you mean?" he asked with raised eyebrows.

"Well, you're still Captain Curious," she said with a genuine laugh, "but you actually listen." Then her soft features become very serious, as she continued: "And no matter what I've said or done, you never left. You were never pushed away. After what I've been through, you don't know how much that means to me, Harry."

As she spoke, her warm breath was hitting his face. His heart was beating faster again, but not for the same reason it had been racing a few minutes ago. His neck and cheeks were warm…had someone somehow increased the temperature in the corridor?

"And I've never met anyone like you," he said in a near whisper, as though he were afraid someone was going to overhear him, and his words were only for Hermione's ears.

And then before he knew it, her face was leaning towards his. Harry had never kissed a girl before, but somehow, as he softly pressed his lips against hers, he felt as though this was exactly what it was supposed to feel like…no, it was even impossibly better.

It wasn't those passionate kisses he'd seen in movies, nor was it a soft little peck or brush. It was simple and perfect. And once it ended, they couldn't seem to separate too much, so their foreheads remained touching as Harry smiled at her and she smiled back with lips that, he had discovered, were as soft as her expression had become.

He leaned down towards her and kissed her again because the smile on her face brightened up the entire corridor and made her warm chocolate eyes and rosy cheeks look ten times prettier. When they parted from yet another simple and perfect kiss, Hermione said, "I really like you, Harry."

The temperature in the corridor had somehow gotten even warmer as she said this, and Harry found himself replying with, "I really like you, too," with a stupid smile on his face.

"You know, I feel like a different person now that I've met you."

"Is that a good thing?" he asked as he bent down to gently kiss her on the cheek. When he leaned back, he saw that she was beaming at him.

"Yes, it is" she said brightly. "I…I didn't like who I was before."

"Why not?" His brows knitted together in confusion, yet he remained just as close to her as he had been.

"I wasn't willing to let anyone really know me," she admitted. "But now I've finally opened up to someone... And Harry?"

"Hmm?" he asked, looking at her expectantly.

"I'm really glad that someone was you."

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**Author's Note:** The End. I hope you guys enjoyed this story; I know I certainly enjoyed writing it :) Sorry if the ending was slightly fluffy-ish…I just couldn't help it xD And I know this story is called "How to Love", yet Hermione says that she only "really likes" Harry; and also, they're not like totally making out but rather having little kisses. This is all because they're only in their third year. Trying to keep this PG, you know how it is. But anyways, again, I hope you enjoyed reading the story. It's been a fun and interesting journey. Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, etc. the story :)


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